


Just Like You

by Crystallinee



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Co-dependence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Mental Breakdown, Suicide Squad Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:57:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystallinee/pseuds/Crystallinee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the rest of the world sees a deranged psychopath, Harleen Quinzel sees a man, capable of loving her in his own twisted way. This is her transformation into Harley Quinn. And so, the pawn turns into a queen.<br/>Suicide Squad-verse. The Joker/Harley. Mature and sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Harley's and Joker's relationship as portrayed in Suicide Squad, which is quite different from the original portrayal in a number of ways. Based on Margot Robbie's Harley Quinn and Jared Leto's Joker.

 

 **Embrace me in your destruction**  
**Only you can show me the darkness  
**

 

* * *

 

 _You keep my heart under the cover of night_  
_Could be the devil in a clever disguise_  
_Temptation leads us, it's too late for goodbye_  
_Your secret's safe until there's blood on my hands  
**\- State of Seduction, Digital Daggers**_

* * *

 

There were three hours every week that Harleen Quinzel dreaded and longed for. Alone in a room with her most notorious patient, only a frail table between them.

Since the first moment she laid eyes on him, she knew she wanted him. And she had never wanted another that much, not in this lifetime or in any other. He intrigued her; she had wanted to know _more_ , dig deeper, and suddenly she had fallen over the edge. She thought she was going to unravel him and gain access to his deepest secrets, but he had flipped the cards on her.

The insane feeling he had set off in her, it ignited a spark and pushed her into endless craving, a bottomless desire that spread like wildfire through her mind and infected every cell with her need for _him_.

She couldn't get used to his presence; he kept her on the very edge with a single word, a glance. She couldn't find her balance anymore, not that she ever had. None of the other psychiatrists wanted to work with The Joker anymore, so when she was assigned to him, she had no choice but to accept. But soon enough she realized that seeing him had become an addiction, destructive, wild, and so _good_.

It had turned into a habit. The evening before their weekly sessions, she would make breathing exercises. She told herself that this time, she would be completely in control again. No more fooling around and laughing at his jokes, no more forgetting what she came for and playing along with him; time to get real.

She must get something out of him; she was not a visitor at a museum admiring his work of art; she was the artist and she drew the line, figuratively. Her job was, unofficially, to shape his mind back into its default shape, to force him back to sanity by all means necessary. But lately she found that the more she tried prying, he would only get further away.

She would soak in the bath, wash her hair and drink calming herbal tea while arranging her notes and preparing the exercises. But over and over again, her concentration was cut off by the thoughts of him. She couldn't stay calm; the tense feeling in her stomach quickened her breathing again.

She would have to pull herself together, arms tightly wrapped around her body. _Get it together, Harleen. Just another therapy session. It's not like he's going to devour you alive - oh, scratch that._

The night before she could never get any sleep. She tossed and turned in the darkness, tried to suppress the mental imagery that so often overpowered her when she let her guard down. She remembered it vividly, the way he would look at her when she entered the therapy room, as if she was the reason he was still alive.

His bright green hair, his pale skin, the tattoos and scars, his ice blue eyes framed by dark circles. His marked jaw line. His eyes, his mouth, his _smile_. They all warned her for the impending danger; all the red flags staring right in her face.

Harleen breathed through her teeth, but the thoughts kept coming.

His eyes that shifted color in the light, depending on his mood. When he was angry or tense they were steel grey, like the cold barrel of a gun in her mouth. When he was calm, satisfied, or wondering, they were simply pale blue, open and bright.

His smile, when he wanted to draw her in and pull her closer and make her knees go weak, how he lifted his upper lip and showed off his teeth. When he wanted something, coffee or a stuffed animal or a machine gun, he would pull both his lips back as far as they would go, a wide smile that he tried to make as less threatening as possible, for her. As if he could ever scare her away. She was onto him like another tattoo; getting rid of her would leave a permanent, red mark.

He had seemed to notice it as well. She had been forced to skip one of their sessions the previous week due to stomach flu, and the other doctors had told her that Mr. J had thrown a fit that none of them would ever forget, putting half of the staff in the emergency psychiatric room. They had practically begged her to come back to work as soon as possible, which of course she had. It would be painful to even try to stay away from him now.

And his smile, oh God, when he was… _furious._ When he heard about some of the guards taking a liking to Harleen, or when he found out about one of her other patients trying, and failing, to seduce her. Like a horrifying mixture of a wolf's hungry smile and a shark's wild gape, it threatened to eat her whole. That smile was always followed by someone's decapitation, but she seemed to be immune to his wrath.

Mr. J had a smile for every occasion, and he reserved his best one only for her.

When he gave her his _Harleen-smile_ , eyes intensely set on her and his red lips stretched as far as they could, only showing a small part of his grill, she felt dizzy. Lately she had been more and more tempted to just lean a bit further, closer to him, and…

 _Anti-social personality disorder_ , her rationality desperately chanted as she turned and tossed, dreading tomorrow in the bottom of her stomach while her skin tingled with anticipation. _Manipulative, a barefaced liar._ _Impulsive. Charming. Attractive._

The way he purred when he was pleased, how his eyes seemed to see through her façade, down to her very core. He saw a part of her that no one had ever seen. The way he made her body ache for him, and he was not even in the room.

_Addictive._

Harleen took a deep breath, tilting her head back on the pillow.

_A sexual narcissist._

She bit her lip hard, letting her fingers trace her skin, going beneath her nightgown.

* * *

  
In the morning she made black coffee and tried to mentally scold herself into focusing. But as soon as she thought about her upcoming patient therapy session, her heart fluttered and her stomach twisted. She would usually end up leaning against a surface for support, doing cramped breathing exercises.

After a sleepless night and overthinking, she was ready to give up. All her emotions had been tied up to a tight knot once she entered the hospital in the morning. She felt like a tense rubber band; if anyone pulled it too hard it would break.

It had been a little more than two months since she was assigned to _him_ , a month since her emotions had a short circuit. She was used to fear not feeling like fear anymore; it was just one part. Fear had the same color as desire, as craving and longing and uneasiness. Every emotion had a bittersweet tang to it; it was impossible to separate them.

Her colleagues had been avoiding her lately. Harleen kept to herself, trying to keep her frail composure. The hours were passing excruciatingly slow and fast at the same time. She could never focus on anything else, knowing _he_ was in the same building, waiting for her. None of her other patients mattered anymore.

Their session was eventually only twenty minutes away. She stood too long in front of the mirror in the staff restroom, making sure she did not have a strand of hair out of place. She splashed her face with cold water while the excitement-dread slowly grew.

Eventually she talked herself into heading for her patient, holding onto the case files tightly and a cup of coffee to calm her nerves. She greeted the guards outside the therapy room and they stepped aside to let her pass, lowering their automatic rifles.

She took a shaky breath.

He was already there, of course, sitting by the table in his filthy straight-jacket. The look on his face told her he was not about to wait any longer.

Harleen put on her best smile. "Hello, Mr. J. How have you been?"

She sat down across from him, putting her folders on the table and opening them to look for the notes she made last night. She was happy she had become so good at masking her nervousness – when no one looked too closely.

"I've been waiting for you, Dr Quinzel," he purred, watching her intensely.

She swallowed the disappointment. Had they not come any closer than this? "Please, call me Harleen."

"Alright then, _Harleen_ ," he said slowly, drawing out the syllables. She already found herself staring at the curve of his lips.

"Are you ready for some questions, Mr. J?"

He tilted his head to the side, stretching his lips. It was his way of telling her that he was going to be good and do what she wanted.

What she really wanted…

 _Focus._ Mentally slapping herself, Harleen forced herself to read the questions she had prepared, coaxing cryptic answers out of him.

 _What do you think about when you see this picture? Elaborate. Describe yourself with ten words. What is your favorite color?_ She kept herself busy by taking notes, or pretending to. Sometimes he would not reply at all, just staring impatiently at her, and she would have to bite her tongue until she could focus again.

They went on for a while; she talked, and he sometimes replied. Every session was the same: they would play pretend for a while, just so she would have something to report. He did it for her sake, though she knew he hated the silly pre-school games more than anything else. He was a genius; anything she came up with was an offense to his intellect.

It was all such nonsense; she couldn't remember anything of _that_ later. But as long as she kept her gaze glued to the paper in front of her she could keep her pulse normal.

When he stopped replying completely, she was forced to look up. "Mr. J? Does the word 'fire' mean anything -"

His eyes caught her entire attention. Once she started _looking_ at him, she could never tear her gaze away. His eyes held so much; a promise of danger and darkness, but they were the most intriguing ones she had ever seen. Alluring her, capturing her _. Scrutinizing_ her, as if he was the had been studying her intensely all the time. Harleen felt the sweat break out on her palms and her throat thickened.

She dropped the pen.

The Joker leaned forward, slowly stretching his lips into that wolfish smile she should have been terrified by. He might have a silly, dement smile on his face, but those gray orbs were dead serious.

Harleen's pulse rushed; she couldn't remain unmoving in her seat. Slowly, as if she was about to face the guillotine, she bent down and reached out a trembling hand for her pen. She knew his eyes were on her all the time, and when she straightened up she released a deep breath.

She tried to set her gaze on anything else but _him_ , tried to make sense of the surroundings: grey concrete walls, tiled floor, small barred windows. Her neat folders in front of her, his name written on the file, and he was dominating her field of vision again.

Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he knew. Was it possible to feel like a prey but at the same time in control? The man across from her in the straight-jacket was physically helpless, but his eyes, _Oh God_ his eyes, had already conquered her.

There went all her plans and her confidence from the night before. He had won this game again.

"Are you afraid?" he asked suddenly, that wide grin still playing on his lips. He watched her intensely as she fought to keep her composure. She knew him enough by now to realize he was not taunting her.

He actually wanted to know.

She swallowed hard. Her eyes were helplessly drawn back to him and their gazes locked. He was unwinding all the parts of herself she had tied together so tightly. Of course she was afraid. But that kind of fear was thrilling; left her light-headed and breathless. Fear and desire mixed together became fervor.

She shook her head. "No."

"I like you… _Harleen_ ," he breathed. "You're not like the others. They were so boring."

She nodded helplessly, her cheeks glowing from the praise.

It was an addiction to be so close to him, the thrill made her blood boil. The way he tilted his head slowly, gaze focused, breathing deeply.

It was so erotic.

"We've become quite acquainted by now, have we not?" he continued, sounding strangely friendly. His eyes bore a hole into her. "You know I live for these moments with you. _Harleen_. I think I like you... very much."

She didn't know how to respond, if there was anything she _could_ say at all. So she gave in and let her body lean over the table. He showed no signs of surprise as he too leaned in as far as he could reach. Still, he could only get so far before his restraints held him back. Harleen reveled in the fact that she had the upper hand, for once.

"Mr J," she breathed. "I like you too."

"Good girl," he purred. "I'm not planning on saying goodbye to you anytime soon."

Harleen couldn't breathe, he was too close and the adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her instincts were screaming at her to run, to stay back. She saw his bared, pale neck, heard his strained breathing. The craving to get closer was overwhelming. It hijacked whatever part was left of her rational thinking and overthrew her senses.

The Joker tilted his head to the side and his eyes were inviting her, testing her.

She kissed him.

His cold lips on hers were surprisingly soft, tasting like metal and acid. He moved against her mouth, purring.

The infamous Clown Prince of crime was there in front of her, eyes closed, looking almost blissful. She wanted more, raising her hands to push him closer, but he pulled apart.

She tore her gaze away from him and glanced at the clock on the wall. Their session was over, only two minutes left. For the first time she was only disappointed. Her heart was beating painfully fast and the adrenaline still powered her movements. A bit unsteadily she stood up to collect her folders and forgotten cup of coffee. His eyes followed her.

"Did you like that, Doctor?" He sounded a bit out of breath himself, something wild in his eyes. As if the straight-jacket was the only thing keeping him from ravaging her.

Harleen tried to compose herself, knowing her face must be ablaze. She took a deep breath to steady her voice.

"We're finished for today, Mr. J. I'll see you next week then –"

"Tomorrow," he interrupted her with unusual force. "Come tomorrow."

"Mr. J, I have other patients." _I'd be with you every day._

His eyes flashed; his words sounded just a bit more desperate than they should have. "Not much longer, Doc. I don't like sharing _._ " He bared his metallic teeth. It was a warning to her as much as to every other inmate and guard in the place. He had enough connections outside to make anyone at Arkham 'disappear' on a whim and end up in the sewers a few days later.

He put on his best Harleen-smile and tried to smooth over his sudden outburst of emotion, but she had seen it. A part of her cheered – he had finally shown her a real part of himself, raw and unhinged. Just the way she wanted.

He didn't need to give her his special smile. She wouldn't deny him anything.

"… Alright. I'll see if that can be arranged –"

"Oh, it can," he purred, ice blue eyes boring into hers. "It will," he added with more strength. "I am not finished with you. And tomorrow, I have a very special request."

Then he smiled again, the fire dissolving from his eyes. "Take care… Harleen."

As soon she left the room, she felt her legs give out.

 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new doctor at Arkham, and Harleen is not pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far.  
> I want to clarify this on before-hand: This story doesn't focus on every single little interaction between them at Arkham. There are plenty of those out there that are worth reading, starting from the very first meeting.  
> This one picks up when they have already formed an attachment. Already in the first chapter, they had moved past initial bonding. The plot will eventually move outside of Arkham's walls.

_Baby, don't you see?_   
_I'm not on drugs, I'm not on drugs,_   
_I'm just in love_   
_You're high enough for me_   
_**\- Not on Drugs, Tove Lo**   
_

* * *

 As soon as she was outside of the therapy room and out of sight from the guards, Harleen leaned against the wall for support. She forcefully tried to calm her breathing down, closing her eyes briefly.

 _You are such a masochist_ , a voice in the back of her mind taunted her. _You enjoy it, don't you?_

"Shut up," she hissed to herself, trying to regain her composure as the situation fully sank in. The familiar nervousness-desire spread in the bottom of her stomach, twisting like a knife. A slight sickness lingered in her throat and she forced it back. Maybe it was her sleepless night and the caffeine finally overthrowing her body, but she couldn't fight the dizziness after what had just occurred.

Yeah. So much for being in control. _All he has to do is to flash that grill, and you're back to square one_ , the voice remarked cynically. _You'll never be able to leave him alone._

Light-headed, floating, she breathed through her teeth and waited until her pulse slowed down. She didn't have energy to deny it anymore. Lying to oneself is different from lying to anyone else; it takes a whole different level of determination and devotion, and right then she felt it slipping away. What was the point in resisting? Had she not already broken every single rule, trashed them, burned them down and gleefully stomped on them?

_Honestly, what's the harm in fueling a fire that's already lit?_

If her superiors found out, she'd be kicked out on her ass, license revoked and facing a whole lot of consequences. Right now, that didn't matter. That was just a vague threat hovering at the distant horizon; something much greater lay in front of her.

She sunk her nails into her palms. "I can handle this," she told herself, defying the crowd.

_Yeah right. He is playing with you like a cat with a mouse before he kills you. Then he won't even bother to eat you, he will leave you there on the floor to rot._

She couldn't help the way her stomach jolted when they said _eat you up_. She was suddenly reminded of the way he looked at her across the table, his eyes clear and open, the intense stare that showed her just how seriously he regarded her. He was studying her too, listening to everything she said, taking her in.

She just couldn't wait for tomorrow.

* * *

   
The day after, Harleen stood by the coffee machine and waited for her daily energizer to finish pouring when Dr. Arkham approached her.

He had given up on trying to get closer to her almost the moment she started working at the place – after she 'accidentally' scorched him with her coffee when he got just a bit too personal. Normally her boss stayed clear of her, only greeting her with a forced nod when they passed each other by.

Harleen didn't welcome his approach now either; she was fully focused on her goal. She was going to see Mr. J tomorrow. They hadn't let her come today day as he had requested, claiming her schedule couldn't be cleared. She could handle a day's wait, anything if it meant getting to see him sooner than next week. Her nerves were tangling up again; it was time to start the routine.

She was forced to look at the elderly man when he cleared his throat.

"Dr. Quinzel… I'd like to talk to you for a moment. Come with me."

His eyes were going back and forth between the floor and another doctor, who stood further away in the room. It was a petite woman, one of the new recruits.

Concealing her suspicion, Harleen took her coffee cup and reluctantly followed him. Dr. Arkham led her to an empty office right across the room, apparently not bothering to bring her to his own office. They entered the small room and he didn't bother sitting down, fidgeting as he closed the door behind them and turned on the lights. Harleen noticed all the signs of his badly masked discomfort and it only fueled the bad feeling. She remained standing as well.

Through the glass frame in the door, Dr. Arkham gestured towards the female doctor who was still standing by the water cooler, looking at them.

"Dr. Valdez is new here. I have… promised to take her under my wing." He fidgeted a little, clearing his throat again. "I think it's time for her to get her first real project. She is particularly interested in… _some_ of our patients, as she is doing an extensive research."

Harleen felt her eyes narrow.

"I know how overworked you've been, Dr. Quinzel. So I want to have Dr. Valdez assist you with your most straining case."

Harleen looked over at the other doctor through the glass screen. She really was petite, with black hair tied up in a neat bun, some strands of hair falling down and surrounding her face. Her tight pencil skirt was shorter than Harleen's and her high heels competing hers. Noticing their stares, Valdez gave Dr. Arkham a look that Harleen knew all too well.

"I'm fully capable of handling the Joker by myself," she said, not bothering to conceal the sharp edge in her voice. She met her boss' fidgeting look, before turning her eyes to the new doctor. The look Harleen gave her could have burned a hole in any less secure woman. _If you think you can fuck your way into Mr. J's therapy room, you're dead wrong, sweetie._

"As I said, Dr. Valdez is doing research, focusing on him and two of our other inmates. She is writing a report on our most notorious patients. As a part of her work, she will conduct therapy with them as well. It's important she spends enough time with them to really get... beneath the surface. "

Her grip around her coffee cup tightened. _Oh yeah? You think_ she _can get under his skin?_

"The Joker has made it very clear that he only wants me as his doctor," Harleen retorted, a tint of glee and pride sneaking into her voice.

"Normally we would try to accommodate to our patients' needs, but as you surely know, Mr. Joker is a very… special case." Dr. Arkham's voice hardened, his gaze got firmer.

 _Accommodate?_ Harleen wanted to laugh. _Electroshock, shots of Thorazine and straitjackets?_

"There is no need to worry. Dr. Valdez has had her license for as long as you have. She has full competence to handle our cases. Mr. Joker is in safe hands."

Harleen felt a growing need to splash his face with her burning hot drink. A small voice in the back of her mind encouraged to do just that but she forced it back for the time being.

"He can't conduct therapy with two different doctors," her rational side commented frostily. "How is that going to do him any good?"

"As we haven't seen much progress with him, that's not a problem." She was about to argue, but he interrupted her. "You'll get another session with him, so you can check up on him and finish your contact the way you see fit. But for the rest, Dr. Valdez is going to start immediately. Her project has a dead-line." Dr. Arkham gave her a fatherly look, looking overly generous.

Anger burned in the pit of her stomach. Keeping her voice as firm as she could, she replied: "With all due respect, Dr. Arkham, I cannot accept it."

He leaned closer to her and she resisted the urge to take a step back from his stinking breath. Not looking at her, he muttered:

"Dr. Quinzel… there are many clinics out there who are in need of psychologists. With your good references, I can assure you they would welcome you. Besides, I am the one who decides what's acceptable and not."

She bit her teeth together tightly. He was threatening her?

"Fine," she said, her voice sharp enough to slice through his pretence. "But you'll have to inform him yourself. Now, if you excuse me, my break is over."

Something inside of her grinned sinisterly. _Just you wait_. Harleen turned around on her heels, grasping her coffee mug tightly and restraining herself from scorching his face. Getting fired would mean not being able to see Mr. J anymore, and that was something she couldn't risk. No matter how frustrating it was, she would have to lay low. She left the room and walked past the other woman, chin held high. Dr. Valdez' eyes didn't meet hers, but she wore a small, triumphant smile that made Harleen want to bash her head against the water cooler.

* * *

  
That night Harleen couldn't sleep. That was no change to her usual routine, but this time it was not the anticipation that kept her awake. She furiously realized that she wouldn't be seeing him at all this week. Her upcoming session with him had been promptly cancelled after her meeting with Dr. Arkham; Valdez was going to start at once. Harleen's "finishing session" had been been scheduled somewhere next week.

Anger boiled in her. She wanted their routine, the wait, the agony and anxiety, the excitement and anticipation. The final reward: J's smile and his words.

She stared at the dark ceiling. These two months had been the most intense in her life. She couldn't really see herself continuing like before him, the very thought was repulsive. What was the request? Would the new doctor be the one to carry it out?

 _He'll scare her away in no time_ , a voice in her mind assured her, for once not out to taunt her. _Wait for it._  
It was a promise to herself, to Dr. Arkham and Valdez alike.  


* * *

  
She dragged herself through the weekend, aching to get back. Her restlessness was all the way up in her throat as she checked in early Monday morning, but nothing seemed to have changed. No chaos, no disorder.

The days passed by, one by one, but nothing happened. Harleen waited for the explosion, the screaming, the sound of rushed steps in the hallway, but nothing. Not even a bloody message in the restroom. Everything seemed to go on in the ordinary slow, forced, drugged up pace it always had at Arkham.

She glared daggers at Valdez every time she passed her by. The woman still didn't meet her gaze, as if she was shy – but her posture was getting more confident every time she met her. Harleen tried to calm herself by reveling in the fact that Mr. J would chew her up and spit her out. But so far the pretty little dark-haired doctor remained intact, her shirts getting shorter and her cleavage bigger. She smelled strongly of an exotic perfume that filled the entire hallways, she got braver with her lipstick.

Harleen had to bite her tongue and force herself to remain calm. She had never been the patient type, but it wouldn't do to latch out to another doctor out of some twisted act of misplaced jealousy - _honestly_ , how deranged had she become? Her colleagues would be shocked if they got a chance to analyze her, she thought dryly.

Dr. Arkham avoided her even more than before, as if he was afraid of something. _Right, you better be scared._

A week passed and Harleen only got a few hours tormented sleep every night. In her dreams he haunted her, like the devil set on hunting her down. It was carving a deep hole in her chest, slowly starting to feel like she was being suffocated.

Still no word from him, only the clicking of Valdez' high heels against the tiled floors. The need for violence and an _outlet_ grew stronger. It must be another side effect of her emotional short-circuit; or maybe she had always been like this?

_What is he doing? Why isn't he doing anything?_

_Does he like her?_

What would she do then?

 _That day, he wanted you to come tomorrow_ , a voice reminded her. _He wanted to see you again, he couldn't wait._ Maybe the voices were just as addicted as she was.

She went through her other patient sessions without a thought or a care. She had been forced to accept one of Valdez previous patients instead. It was a man in his late forties, tied up in a straitjacket like the rest, drugged beyond recognition. He kept on staring at her during their sessions, smacking his tongue slowly while she wished herself to hell and back.

"Mr. Lee, it's time to look over your prescriptions," Harleen said uninterestedly, glancing at the clock with heavy disappointment in her chest. At this time of day, she would normally be sitting in front of Mr. J.

The man on the other side of the table made an unrecognizable sound, drool pooling down his chin.

"Doctor," he said throatily.

"Yes?" She glanced at the folder. This patient was not the verbal type. It was surprising that he was even attempting any form of communication, considering the amount of drugs in his system.

"You… like me?"

She stared at him. "Pardon me?"

"Er'body say you like your patients," he slurred, eyes rolling back for a moment.

He must be joking. "Mr. Lee, that is hardly appropriate."

"You like him, don't ya?" he continued, his gaze moving rapidly back and forth between the ceiling and the floor.

"I don't understand what you mean." She put in great effort to sound professional and calm, as if he was just talking nonsense. Still, her heart beat faster.

"Er'body are talkin' 'bout ya. T'say you're…" He took a wheezing breath, almost choking on his breath. Harleen stood up ready to assist him; he had sparked her interest. To be convicted for murdering a family of five, he sure was interested in workplace gossip.

"What do they say?" she coaxed, voice growing stern. She put a hand on his shoulder when he coughed again, a bit too firmly.

"He told 'em. "

"He? Mr. Joker?" Her heart was slamming against her ribcage. Her patient rolled his head in a full circle, resembling a nod.

"He says you're only his. We can't have ya." Lee wheezed.

Harleen felt her entire body go stiff, a cold-hot tingle running through her. There was a hint of something else in her, something that almost felt flattered, but the anger took over. How did he have the nerve? Telling her to drop her other patients, declaring he was not going to share her, even spreading rumors that further cleared the way? And then just shrugging her away when a new doctor came along?

If this was his definition of a game, she was not going to play it for long.

* * *

  
One week and a day after their separation, Harleen finally managed to get her check-up session authorized.

When she passed the guards outside the therapy room, she tried her hardest not to glare at them. They stood there greeting her, but now she knew about the rumors they probably indulged in. She felt her posture straighten, her muscles tightening. Her determination grew, a tingly sense of something in her throat.

The Joker's eyes were set on her as soon as she entered, a slow grin spreading onto his face.

Harleen stalked through the room and slammed her folder down on the table in front of him, just barely containing herself. He just kept on smiling; his default, toothy one that could mean anything. She never let herself be fooled by that look, knowing his mental wheel was spinning, randomizing the outcome of his reaction.

"I see you're getting along well with your new doctor." Her voice was sharp, but she had forgotten how intimidating he was, even bound in his straitjacket. A bit of her fury faltered as she sat in front of him.

"Who?" His voice was smooth, deceptive, his brows rising as if he had no clue what she was talking about.

"You know very well who I'm talking about." Her usual nervousness was creeping onto her again.

The Joker tilted his head back, a slow chuckle escaping him. His body shook slightly with his cackles, he gasped for breath for a moment. "Jealous, Doc?" he breathed when he had calmed down. Those grey eyes fixed on her again, a spark of excitement in them. She had seen enough of him to automatically read and analyze that look: a game.

Her mouth fell open for a moment before she composed herself. "I assume they've informed you already. You and I will not be having any more sessions." She tried to hide her slight desperation in her voice, as if she was begging for him. She would never show him that.

His brows raised. "Oh?" he said, feigning surprise. Then he smiled again, but his eyes were alert, completely focused on her like a bird of prey. "I can't remember… being informed of that. I was starting to wonder where you had gone, _Harleeeeen_."

She blatantly scrutinized him for any sign of a reaction, but he had a perfect poker face. Suddenly it was hard to look him in the eyes.

"Ah, you are funny as always, Doc. Not quite like that other... what's her name?" He shrugged. "Tryna get into _this_ too much." He tilted his neck, indicating his head. She didn't reply.

"You're still my favorite doctor," he assured her after a few moments, breaking the tense silence.

She forced the frustration back. "I suppose you know it's either her or me treating you."

The Joker leaned forward across the table, giving her his widest, broadest smile. Now the mocking amusement was gone from his voice.

"How funny... _Harleeeeeen_ ," he drawled. "I thought I already made myself clear. We are not done yet. For better… or worse."

Was this some sick kind of vow? Ignoring his smile, she continued: "Dr. Valdez is your primary doctor from now on. I would appreciate," her voice grew sharper, "if you didn't spread rumors."

"What?" he replied, again feigning surprise. As if he didn't know already exactly what had gone down. He twisted his neck backwards slightly, eyes focusing on her with a deadpan expression. Somehow he was more intimidating when he was completely blank.

"I just needed to make it clear." He licked his lips.

Harleen bit back the feelings that suddenly hovered dangerously close to the surface.

"I can't exactly see why you would do that, considering you seem completely content with the switch. I recall we kinda got to an agreement last time." _More like a commitment ending with physical closeness, but whatever._

She cursed herself for displaying her obvious attachment like this, knowing it was like baring a throat. There was a clear hint of amusement drifting in his gaze as he watched her, and it provoked her further.

Swallowing down feelings from the ugly realization, Harleen stood up. She stared him down, despite the fact that the familiar fear, _reverence_ for his presence rushed through her entire body. Even in his straitjacket, seemingly completely harmless, he was dangerous.

"I think it's better we finish this now," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "As you know, I have other patients to take care of."

She turned to leave and picked up her folder. The sound of the chair being violently pushed back, screeching against the floor, stopped her.

His eyes flashed as he walked over and stopped in front of her. He was taller than her, his thin frame impressively showing his authority as he towered over her.

She felt cornered, despite the door in the other end of the room and the alarm button she could press at any moment, but the familiar rush was back in her system. It flooded her veins stronger than before and escape was the last thing on her mind.

His voice was low, smooth, deadly. "Not so fast, H-a-r-l-e-y."

_What did he just call me?_

The expression on his face was almost wild, and with a twisting in her stomach realized the straitjacket was the only thing holding him back. It set off an instinctive reaction to pull back, but she had deliberately battled her instincts for the last months and once again, her rational side won. She didn't move an inch.

"I'm not your doctor anymore, am I?" She couldn't help it, her entire body aching to hear him defy her. She just wanted him to say it, but in her current position she felt that demands were not in the question.

He growled, a deep guttural sound, turning his neck again. "Ah… _You_ just don't understand." Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he backed away and his voice grew quieter, like a dull blade. "Aren't… doctors supposed to be _smart_?"

She stared at him, heart beating wildly. The Joker moved around now, circling around the table, and she found herself wishing he would just get _closer_ again.

His facial expression was deadpan, but the look in his eyes told her to remain wary. "I spend my days staring at these four walls, except for the occasional... rendezvous with, ah, you know the big guys outside." He nodded at the door, eyes big and childlike. His mood and expression switched so fast she could never keep up.

"You know… you are keeping this agonizing _boring_ existence worthwhile. And what, you can't even come every day because you've got _other patients_ …" His voice grew mocking, disbelieving, as if he just couldn't believe she dared to do such a thing. His supply of imitated emotions was so wide, he never seemed to run out. " _You_ fault me for having a little plaything to keep me… _sane_ while I'm waiting for you?" He gave a dry smile, eyes dead set on her.

Harleen couldn't make a sound, all air sucked out of her lungs.

The Joker gave a shrug, a mischievous grin suddenly playing on his lips. "Oh, and it's important to know the right guys around here… what they're willing to do for some cash... or, ya know, some attention." He winked at her.

There it was again, the irrational anger. Not even bothering to keep her face straight or voice smooth, Harleen retorted:

"Let me guess, you usually seduce your psychologists? What about the research she does, does it include physical examinations too?"

He tilted his head to the side, cackling loudly. After a moment he stared straight at her, eyes clear and open, and she interpreted the almost offended look in his eyes as _are you serious?_

He moved towards her again. "Don't you walk out on me, Doctor," he said her silkily, almost purring. "I'm enjoying your presence… way too much." He turned his head upwards. There was a dangerous edge to his voice, and she found herself enjoying it.

With only a few inches between them, she felt her instincts forcing their way up again, but she kept them down.

 _Didn't anyone teach you to beware of the big bad wolf? You're the little piglet welcoming him in,_ a voice in the back of her mind whispered. She swatted it away.

He was so impossibly close, she could feel herself melt away and sink into him. She was acutely aware of what happened last time their lips got so close, and it took all her willpower not to think about it.

"I think I'll take you with me," he mumbled, staring down at her intently – his mood had switched again. "Little… Valdez is going to be useful for a while, ah… but there's something _you_ could do for me."

She didn't even pretend that she wasn't happy about somehow being included, but the anger hadn't completely subsided. Now when the other name was mentioned she forced her gaze on him again, waiting until he met her eyes. He drew his lips back to a smile and she was almost sure he was staring at her pulse point.

"You're leaving?" she breathed, just staring at his face.

"Oh yesss," he purred at her. "When the time's right, doll. Right now, I'm having too much fun back at ol' Arkham… can't leave the party yet, can we?"

She couldn't help but notice how her heart fluttered at the way he said _we_.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, her mind going back to the request he still hadn't expressed. It didn't matter what his escape plans included, but she was on it.

"Ah, we'll get to that. We'll have plenty of time to discuss that... from now on."

A knock on the door, no doubt from the guards signaling that their time was up, interrupted them. He leaned down, his breath ghosting over her face for a moment. He stared straight into her eyes, finally dropping all pretense.

"A final warning, _Harleen_." His eyes narrowed slightly. " _Drop the others._ " Then he straightened up and grinned, flashing her his Harleen-smile. "Don't ya worry. Playtime's over." His eyes glinted with something she couldn't read. Harleen smiled back, heart thumping in her chest. The stress and sleeplessness from the past week was completely forgotten.

When he had been escorted away, she was almost hyperventilating again. She knew it now, better than ever before. There was absolutely no way out. Not anymore, if there ever had been. She would come back tomorrow, breathless and anticipating. She would come back every day. Separating herself from him now was an impossibility that just went down the drain. The thought was physically uncomfortable, and she forced it away.

She stumbled into the empty staff restroom and drenched her face in cold water to chase the strong flush on her face away. She couldn't let anyone see her with rosy cheeks after every session with him.

Her most recent realization had her spinning and breathing faster than before. He was not just out to play with her, he was planning to include her in the game. She had no clue what it was, but she was down for it. Whatever he had planned for her, for _them_ , she wanted to be there and see it.

If this had been a little try-out of his, something told her she had just passed the test.

 _Maybe_ , she figured as she stared at her flushed face in the mirror, heart pounding hard enough to hurt, _I'm just like that. I can't keep myself on the edge; I must jump straight down._

 


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> J wants his doctor back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The big reader interest for this story is the reason I decided to really go all out with this story - so thank you! I loved writing this and I hope you love reading it - it's an extra long chapter too.

 

 _Anything you want I'll give it up_  
_Lips, lips I kiss_  
_Bite me while I taste your fingertips_  
_Day drunk into the night_  
_Wanna keep you here_  
 **\- Talking Body, Tove Lo**  


* * *

 

Harleen stood by the coffee machine when the lights suddenly flickered, then they went out. Through the darkness she heard the other persons in the staff room abruptly stand up, the scraping of chairs against the tiled floor. Her heart beat faster as an icy chill rushed down her spine. She remained completely still, waiting, listening.

 Was it already time?

The other doctors and nurses mumbled worriedly to each other, while she remained standing with full attention. The sound of heavy steps came closer, and when the emergency light switched on a minute later she saw an orderly stand in the door, breathing harshly and motioning at her.

"Quinzel, you must come at once."

She saw more guards running past in the corridor outside, with their weapons ready.

"What's going on?"

The man's eyes moved quickly around the room. "It's about patient 2671. Something's happened - "

Harleen was already halfway out the door when Dr. Valdez spoke up.

"It's my patient, so I'm going. If you don't mind, Dr. Quinzel..."

Harleen turned her head around only to give her the hardest, cutting glare she could manage, staring her down. The violent impulse was back, but she had more important things to focus on at the moment. The other woman remained unfazed, coming closer.

Harleen simply pushed past the orderly and hurried down the corridor, her body moving in the direction of his cell on its own accord, as she heard the guard accompany her. She had already passed two corridors and one staircase, too impatient to wait for the elevator, when he stopped her.

"There's something you must see, Doctor," he said and gestured her for her to go into the other direction, that lead away from the maximum security floor and down to the lower floors.

Her jaw was locked tight, the tension spread through her and fueled the impatience. "What?" she snapped. "I've got to see my patient at once."

"He is under control," the guard replied – his words intended to calm down having the opposite effect on her. She needed to get to the Joker now, _what happened?_

"Follow me," the man said apprehensively and she forced herself to follow, away from the cell again.

He lead her quietly down to the lowest floor above the parking garage, where the staff locker rooms were – a place mostly used by the guards and nurses. Her heart beat in rhythm with her rushed steps and she vaguely noticed the increased presence of staff.

They stopped in front of the large male staff restroom, close to the locker rooms. The guard stopped her at the door that was guarded by two orderlies, giving her full view of the restroom.

"The police is on its way, don't touch anything," one of the guards commanded sternly.

She looked down and noticed her heels inches away from thick blood stains. She looked up again.

The room was colored crimson – the tiled floor and the stalls were splattered as if someone had taken a huge paintbrush and flicked it. In one corner, by the dripping sink, there was a big lump of something fleshy and red. The body had been mutilated beyond recognition. The white tiled walls were only partially stained, leaving room for a large, neatly scribbled message across the entire far wall of the room.

The orderly who escorted her winced as he once again looked at the scene. In large, bold red letters it was written, accompanied by a big, wide smiley face.

_Bring Quinzel back._

As horror movie like as it was, Harleen felt something she couldn't quite identify – maybe it was excitement, perhaps even flattery, drowning out the ominous feeling.

She stared calmly at the room for a few moments, taken aback at the extensive massacre that must have caused this much blood. The five liters of one human body could hardly be enough – it was as if someone had emptied buckets.

"What happened?" she asked, hardly concealing her curiosity.

The guard who led her there seemed eager to let her in on the details, bouncing in nervousness. "We heard patient 2671 laugh in his room. He started picking a fight and then he told us to go look downstairs - 'ask Quinzel', he said."

"Did he break out of his cell?" She finally looked at the guard.

"No, he's been there all along-"

Finally turning her head away from the lumpy bag of meat that used to be a guard, she saw two police officers, followed by Dr. Arkham, approaching quickly.

"Ma'am, I must ask you to leave this area," one of the officers said sternly. "We're just about to start investigating."

Harleen looked at her boss, who gave the guard a firm glare. "You did not have permission to go fetch Dr. Quinzel - this will be brought up with the disciplinary committee."

Dr. Arkham had a look on his face that made her mentally prepare for battle.

"I'll see you in my office in fifteen minutes, Quinzel."

Not even bothering to prepare her arguments, she saw her chance and immediately took off. She rushed up the stairs, past the worried asylum staff and the emergency personnel, skipped through the corridors and impatiently slammed her security card against the electronic door locks, hurrying up to the maximum security floor.

The feeling of hurry didn't fade as she approached, the familiar tense anticipation grew mixed with dread – _he's under control_.

She finally arrived to the corridor outside his cell and saw two heavily armed guards close the door, along with a nurse moving a medical cart.

"... that'll keep him calm for a while, like a vegetable," one of them said.

"What did you do?" Harleen approached the guards quickly, almost tripping over. She directed a stern glare to both of them. "What did you give him?"

The nurse answered. "100 mg Chlorpromazine, intramuscular."

She swallowed the dread – that was way too much way too quick. "Let me see him."

The nurse gave her a hesitant look. "Dr Quinzel, you are not authorized to meet with him outside your scheduled appointments. I will send for Dr. Valdez right away."

"No, she asked me to come instead, as I've been his primary doctor," Harleen interrupted without skipping a beat, the lie coming effortlessly in her desperation. "If you have any doubts, consult Dr. Arkham later; he approved."

With that, the nurse nodded and stepped aside. The guards gave her apprehensive looks.

"Be careful, Doctor – he's restrained, but you don't know when the medication will kick in."

She just waved for them to unlock the bolted the door and when her fingers entered the digits in the electronic lock, they were shaking. She hurried inside and let the door shut behind her.

There he was, sitting on the bed - a metallic plate bolted to the wall with a mattress on top. His cell was utterly stripped of anything but the bed and a door leading up to a bathroom.

The relief flooded her chest. She hurried over to him, hesitated for only a moment before she put her hands on his shoulders. "Mr. J?" she inquired softly. "Are you alright?"

He looked up at her then, wide blue eyes framed by dark circles, his gaze unnervingly alert for just having been doped with Thorazine. She knew they always administered a too heavy dose compared to his thin body, but no one listened to her protests.

A slow chuckle left his lips, and she noticed the left side of his face was bruised. Anger boiled white in her blood. She remained wary of him, even though he was strapped into a straitjacket.

"Got my message, Doc?" he purred, as if nothing had disturbed the day.

She nodded, deciding not to ask any questions.

With a glimpse of malevolent, dark amusement in his eyes he drawled: "A gift to the alpha Doctor - wasn't it neat? Should'a had it wrapped up."

His eyelids seemed to droop suddenly, but then he blinked and all signs of drowsiness was gone – he seemed to hold it back with his usual iron will.

He worked his jaw, seemingly distracted by something. Harleen remained in front of him, going down on both knees to get her face in level with his. "I've tried to convince them to stop with the medication - it's useless."

He gave her a pointed look, lips drawing back slightly in a feral grimace. The lingering fear still spiked her body to its usual reactions, but her mind had calmed down once she was near him, once she had made sure he was not too badly hurt.

Something about her sitting there seemed to do something to him, because he was suddenly leaning over, his face so close she could feel his breathing.

"Har _lee_ n _Quin_ zel..." The way he said her name, rolling the vowels in his mouth and tasting them, was addictive.

"I was thinking of what you called me the other day."

He raised his brow, an amused grin playing on his lips. "Harley," he purred. "Perrrfect."

"Really?"

"Harley... Quinn," he licked his lips briefly. "Doesn't fit a doctor." Something flickered in his eyes, equal parts mockery and seriousness. She wanted to hear him say it more, more.

He leaned even closer, still restrained by his straitjacket, and his mouth was right by her ear. "I'm getting impatient, _Harley_."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Mr. J?"

"How do you _taste_ , Harley? You think you're a prudent little doctor, but you're a bad little girl underneath, aren't you? It makes me wanna cut you up and _devour_ you, to see what you're really like underneath."

Then his eyes rolled back into his head for a moment, he withdrew and let himself fall down onto the mattress with a grunt, eyelids flickering - indeed he was too thin for the heavy doses they administered, even if he could withstand most of it impressively well.

Knowing they had done this without any real reason, against his will, made Harleen enraged. She ached to jab a needle through _them_ , for his sake. They deserved it.

His chest heaved harshly, his eyes finally closed.

"I promise," Harleen whispered as he turned on his side away from her, "I'll help you. Whatever you need."  


* * *

  
"Quinzel," Dr. Arkham spat, not even bothering with her title. His hands twitched on his desk, his glasses almost falling of his face.

Harleen looked at him, barely concealing her defiance - if it wasn't for all the older men she had encountered in her professional life and had to face constant patronizing behavior from, she might just have let it show. But now she didn't, still looking him straight in the eye.

He gave her a suspicious look. "Mr. Joker claims to be behind this... incident. Although he has not left his cell for a moment, he knew about this and told the guards to go down and look. As it turns out, one of our guards has been confirmed dead"

She tried to keep a straight face. "You have no idea how he managed to do it?" She _was_ curious, even morbidly so, and a part of her couldn't help but to feel flattered.

"Two of our guards have been missing today, and they are now sought by the police. I want to talk about the threat he left for us." His gaze hardened. "As you saw, it referred to _your_ name. A clear message. What do you have to say about this?"

"I had no idea he would ever be capable of such a thing," Harleen replied honestly.

"According to this message, and his repeated requests of seeing you the last few days...it is clear that he has formed some kind of... obsession, Quinzel."

She ignored the tightening in her lower stomach.

"As I told you before, switching doctor is not going to him any good. He is not ready for it and I've come to the conclusion that he is angry that his wishes were disregarded. A betrayal of the trust he put in us."

She hoped she could talk her way out of this by giving him what he wanted the most - any small piece of the Joker's mind. To her satisfaction, she saw a flicker of doubt in his eye, but his own confidence stopped him from giving in.

"We've already had this discussion, Quinzel. We are looking at his best interest and that is to try the new form of therapy that Dr. Valdez is performing. A different approach might be very healthy for him."

_That is bullshit and you know it._ Harleen forced herself to bite back the thought.

Dr. Arkham gave her a hard stare. "I also expect you to in all and any ways discourage any further... attachment from his side. Are we clear, Quinzel? If this continues, I will by law have to remove you. Also, the message and all of this incident is to be kept strictly confidental. If media catches onto this, we're in deep trouble."

"Of course." She put on her best poker face.

She shrugged it off as she left the office. It wouldn't be long, she knew it. The Joker obviously had people on the inside - although it couldn't be proven yet, any and all guards could be corrupted and ready to act for him at any moment. Someone on his payroll had willingly murdered their own colleague and left.

Dr. Jeremiah Arkham was a dead man, and she could not wait for his doom to come.  


* * *

  
Two days passed with some minor disturbances - Valdez had assessed her dominance as the doctor in charge of the Joker, and she had the boss on her side. Which meant that Harleen had to stand to the side, grinding her teeth, as Valdez administered another high dose of Thorazine - Harleen knew that the Joker grew absolutely murderous from those dosages, that rarely managed to calm him down unless they gave him more than what was legally acceptable for his case.

From what she heard, he wouldn't stop teasing the guards about their dead colleague and friend, taunting them until one of them lost it and resorted to violence. The Joker had a self-destructive habit of rousing violence from everyone around him with poisonous words and malevolent grins. It left him with bruises and another injection.

But since the Joker had not acted yet, Harleen decided to bide her time, nurse her grudge and glare holes into Valdez and all the guards working for her.

She had noticed that Valdez' confident smile was slowly faltering; she looked worn-out and increasingly frustrated. The air of smugness that had surrounded for a while seemed to die down each time she was called to go see her increasingly unruly patient. He had already made one nurse cry and another flee from the room in panic, despite lack of any physical threat. Harleen watched it all with dark glee.

When she stood in the staff coffee room one day later, she saw Valdez coming through, eyes wide and her make-up smudged. Harleen pretended to be busy with her coffee as the other doctor sat down in the far corner of the room with a mug of her own.

Two nurses, one of them being the victim of the Joker's latest mental attacks, mumbled quietly to each other.

"...I don't know how she stands it, poor Veronica..."

"I heard he went pretty rough on her last time too, asking about her family... even about her father, can you imagine?..."

The first nurse shook her head as they looked over at the dark-haired doctor, who seemed to be a mixture of furious and heartbroken. She stared down into her cup as she scribbled something on a notepad.

"He did the same to me," the nurse continued hushedly, "He is ruthless, with that devilish grin of his - "

Harleen turned to leave the room, smugness mixing with impatience - for how long was this going to keep up? Someone called her name when she reached the door. She turned around to see Dr. Valdez stare at her with upset, demanding eyes, her lips pressed to a thin line.

"Quinzel, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"What?"

"It's about patient 2671."

"You're breaking secrecy," Harleen reminded her.

The room was empty save for the two gossiping nurses, but they were well out of ear-shot by now.

"No - I've talked to Dr. Arkham and we've decided to let you continue your sessions with Mr. Joker for the time being - until things calm down."

Trust her boss to be too chicken to tell her himself.

"Oh, why is that?" She couldn't help but to throw salt in the wound, just for the hell of it.

Valdez looked around before she took a step closer, speaking quietly and quickly. "How could you work with him for so long? Most of the time he refuses to acknowledge my presence, or he turns it completely around and starts accusing me of things... How do you get _into_ him?"

"There is no getting _into_ him," Harleen replied icily. "You think you'll pry open his mind, don't you? So you can try to fix him and bend him straight again?"

Valdez stared at her.

"If you try to get him to open up, he'll _eviscerate_ your mind. He is not _broken_. That's just how he is - something to add to your research." With that, Harleen turned and left.

It seemed as if it was already too late, though - her fellow doctor looked as if she hadn't slept for the past four days, no doubt kept awake by the demons Joker had left to hatch in her mind. Valdez had been pushed steadily towards the edge of breakdown in record time. Harleen knew it was a favorite pastime of the Joker's when he was bored out of his mind; she hoped it gave him at least some distraction to break the monotony.  


* * *

  
With a steady heartbeat and her blood singing in her veins, Harleen sat down in front of the Joker for their session. The taste of victory was nothing compared to the rush of being with him again.

"Harleeeey... where have you been?" he drawled. The soon two week break from their usual routine had affected them both. There was no use in even trying to focus on the pretense therapy.

She gave him a small smile. "Around, waiting for you."

He tilted his head to the side, giving her a lazy grin. "Wouldn't want to miss anything interesting, would we?"

She moved her gaze away from his lips. "When are you going to leave?"

"You are free to join me, doll." He chuckled low in his throat, and she could feel the weight behind the words. "This is not the place for _you_ \- if you don't wanna play Doctor forever."

He spoke slowly, drawing out the words, and she found it more seductive than she should. But the way he spoke to her was always laced with something to further draw her in - an intense stare that made her believe that she was the thing which the earth circled around, a suggestive tilt of the head, all his different smiles.

"What do you need?" she asked, once again.

"Oh, a machine gun - would you do me that little favor?" There it was again, an deceptive innocent look in his eyes, like a child asking for a flamethrower. Not that he wasn't exceptionally skilled with every weapon that got in his way. He had told her, occasionally, about his adventures with AK-47s, grenades, knives and Molotov cocktails - it really made his eyes light up.

Even then, knowing that he was well-aquatinted with the object in question, she nodded.

"Don't worry, I'll get you one." Her voice was absolute determined. Then she flashed him a wide smile, feeling the nerve-knotting fear finally leave her system - giving way for pure desire; as if her emotions had finally leveled out. An absolute rush of ecstasy flooded her veins.

"Now," he licked his lips absently, "Would you help me out here?" His straitjacket was on, like usual, but since she was reassigned to him they had not needed to drug him up again. He had been impressively cooperative, both with the guards and nurses (which didn't change the fact that they were still terrified of him).

It was a great risk, she knew, considering how strict the rules had been lately and she would really be done for if they caught her doing this, but her own will to rip it off him had made her resolve fragile as glass.

They thought they could keep her safe from her patient, through straitjackets, alarm buttons, rooms with two entryways and guards armed to the teeth only a shout away. But nothing they did could stop it now.

She complied with pounding heart, moving around the table and for once not feeling wary of touching him, even as he watched her intently. She loosened the straps pulled uncomfortably tight to his torso. Then he was free.

He pulled the jacket over his head, threw it away and stood up, stretching out his arms. Despite being restrained for months, he must have gotten some kind of exercise in his cell - his arms were muscular and defined, just like his slim chest.

His body was in front of her in all its glory, even in the hideous asylum clothes. He brought one hand up to his face and absently stroked his green hair back neatly. Harleen stood still a few feet away and watched him as he relished in his new mobility.

His true element - free, completely unrestrained, unpredictable, powerful - even when the fools at Arkham forced him down with medication and straps, he had a certain air of power to him that nothing could change. When Valdez brought him to the ECT table the other day for another treatment out of desperation, the look in his eyes was not resigned, no. He looked like he was going to tear her head off, at the same time laughing out loud.

Harleen waited until he had settled down in the new feeling, and then he looked at her.

Weeks, months of restrained lust in his eyes when he closed in on her, like a lion in those unpredictable moments before an attack. She could feel the pheromones thick in the air, driving both of them further down the road to high. There was nothing to stop him now, and the lack of a safety route was arousing.

With a low growl, he suddenly had her pinned against the wall, catching her lower lip in between his teeth. Harleen's breathing got stuck in her throat, her hands dropping weakly at her side.

With either hand placed on the wall beside her, trapping her in the middle, he kissed her hard, pushing the back of her head against the wall. She arched up into him and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. When the first surprise had worn off, she responded intensely.

He pulled back suddenly, and the impatience drove her crazy. The beautiful arch of his neck as he looked at her through hooded, unreadable eyes, his strained breathing as his hands moved to grip her waist harshly. For the first time his hands were free to move as they wanted across her body and she had been aching for it. He closed in on her again and this time she felt the final fear dissipate.

Caught between him and the wall, his breathing loud in his ear, she lost all sense of rationality. Dr. Arkham and Valdez could have been bursting into the room with a swarm of orderlies in that very moment and she would have simply flipped them off, ensnared with their most dangerous patient in a lip-lock.

She reached up, at the same time wriggling out of her offensive white doctor's coat - it felt like an insult to him, knowing how much he despised the very concept of doctors. It left her with her tight skirt and a short top underneath, less fabric between them.

"Greedy, are we, Doctor?" he purred in her ear - sounding dark enough to be threatening.

"I thought we dropped the titles?" She breathed harshly in between the words, to his amusement.

"Oh, that's right." He bit down on her earlobe, sending an excited shiver down her spine.

He slammed her to the wall with his body again, every part of him pressing into her as their lips collided. It was rough and tender at once, and she squeezed her arms around his shoulders as tight as she could, effectively clinging to him.

Eventually he pulled apart to let her breathe. His eyes were locked on her, a colored tint on his pale face. Harleen smiled triumphantly.

"You're Mr. J - I'm Harley Quinn."

"Oh no," he purred, "But soon you will be."


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arkham is under assault.

_I never sang for love, I never had a heart to mend_   
_Because before the start began, I always saw the end_   
_But nothing's ever gonna give, I'll never set you free_   
_Yeah, I'll never set you free_   
_**\- Starring Role, Marina and the Diamonds**   
_

* * *

 

Whatever her plan had been for this, she had not expected to find herself in a corner, crouching behind an overturned table as a group of costumed men with machine guns closed in on her. Harleen pressed herself against the wall, unarmed and horrified. Another explosion went off and she crouched down with her arms thrown over her head, ducking as parts of the ceiling gave in.

This was not a part of the plan.

One of the intruders, dressed in a fancy suit, grabbed her harshly by the arm and yanked her up to her feet. She immediately directed a punch to his face only to receive a hard blow in return. The men held her down by the neck as they dragged out of her hiding place.

Another loud sound made her flinch, a metal door was blown off it's hinges - accompanying the sounds of bullets spraying all over when more masked men stormed the hallways. She was pulled right into the war zone, struggling against their vice grip. Bright flashes all over, broken windows, the inmates released from their cells, the fire alarm blasted.

"Keep her alive," the man in the suit ordered. "Boss' orders."

* * *

  
It had been surprisingly easy to get a machine gun. Maybe had she had gained the guards' trust, or they had simply taken a liking to her, but either way it suited her purpose.

She ordered a nurse to bring her heavy sedatives, claiming the Joker had been acting out again. After his recent behavior, Harleen immediately got what she asked for, no questions asked. Then she told the nurse the true story of how the Joker wouldn't have his medication given to him by anyone else than her, which left her alone with the goods. She loaded a syringe with the biggest dosage and kept it hidden in her coat. She waited around in the hallways until she spotted one of the guards who used to wait outside during her therapy sessions. He was always nice to her, more so than the others.

She asked him to accompany her to the Joker's cell for an unscheduled visit, claiming she was scared to go alone. She played her part of concerned doctor perfectly, and he was more than willing to join her, taking his mission to protect this seemingly innocent woman seriously. His mistake.

Once they were alone, she kept up her game for another few minutes to lull him into a sense of false security. Lying had always come easy to her, especially when it was for Mister J. She was proud to be his trusted accomplice. She was going to show him just how serious she was. She wouldn't let him down.

She fed the guard long sob stories of how threatened she felt, urging him to keep himself extra close to her. All she needed was for him to turn around, and as he was busy unlocking the door for her, she brought the syringe up and stabbed his neck in one swift movement. He gave a surprised gasp and stumbled back, but she had already emptied its contents into his vein. Using his surprise, she pulled him inside of the Joker's cell, closed the door behind her and removed his rifle from him. He was on the floor, losing his consciousness quickly. Impatiently she slammed the end of the gun on his head.

When she was sure he was out, she hurried over to the Joker, who was sitting on the bed. He watched her, his head tilted slightly to the side and a grin playing on his lips.

"That was quick, doll," he purred. "I knew you could do it."

Relishing in his praise, she immediately removed his straitjacket, heart pounding with anticipation. They had created a routine during the past week of always starting his sessions with her removing it, but now that time was over. This was it. The beginning of his final freedom. Yet, she had decided not to think of what would happen afterwards. All she knew was that she was going follow, wherever he went. Their paths were intertwined now, for better or worse.

"Now, _you_ wait here," he told her, grabbing the machine gun, his eyes sparkling with dark anticipation. His eyes were steel gray again and coldly focused. She sensed the blood lust in him and her excitement grew.

Curious but obedient, she waited in his cell as he left. His exit must have been discrete, because there were not a sound heard once he'd left.

Silently, the minutes passed away and she waited. She looked around in the room he'd spent so many months in, his isolated cell, and it hurt to think of how he must have been tortured by his mind, alone down here.

When nothing happened for a good twenty minutes, she decided to move to a safer place, just in case. She left the unconscious guard behind and headed down the hallway, for the last time.

She had reached the third floor when the lights went out, and this time it remained dark. The lights coming from the small windows at the upper part of the walls were enough to see where she went.

The sound of an explosion close by caused her self-confidence to waver and she started running. She burst into her office and threw herself to the floor as automatic rifles started shooting outside in the hallway. Remembering her emergency training, to always get behind a solid object as low as possible, she hid behind her desk as she waited for the air to clear.

The sounds came closer, and she heard screams. By the sound of the gunshots, she realized that the goal was to simply pepper everything in its way and annihilate everything that moved. The lights flickered, people were shouting, the fire alarm went off… too close. She realized she shouldn't have waited before getting to a safety room, and cursed herself for her foolishness.

Too late now.

Another explosion shook the building, causing flakes of paint and small tiles rain down on her in a cloud of dust. A woman was screaming; a loud, shrill sound that was suddenly cut off. Harleen recognized it very well, but all she could feel was her heart hammering away in her chest.

It was impossible to focus with the lights flickering on and off, she knew she needed to get to a safety room immediately but moving right now might be the last decision she ever made. Out of options, she crouched in the corner of the room and prayed no one would look behind the desk.

She looked around for something to use as a makeshift weapon, just as heavy steps filled the room.

"Found her, just where you said she'd be."

Several costumed men with assault rifles entered the room. Her desk, along with all its content, was flipped over. They got her in a death grip and roughly dragged her away, ignoring her shouting and kicking as if she was nothing more than a sack of meat. She tried to bite one of them but got a numbing blow to the head in response. They dragged her away through the hallway and in a familiar direction.

The ECT room looked like a morgue.

In front of her, the bodies of her former colleagues were bleeding out on the ground.

Harleen was violently pushed back onto a table by one of the men. "Get off of me! GET OFF!" she screamed, adrenaline fueling her movements. The suited man ignored her as he held her down. With heavy dread, she soon felt the straps being roughly fastened around her body and effectively pinning her down to the table.

The gunshots rung out right outside the room, she heard the sound of something hitting flesh, over and over, then it stopped.

The Joker let go of a bloody bat and stretched out his arms as far as they could reach, closing in on her. Everything about the way he moved was decidedly predatory, and now it only fueled her terror.

Once he showed up, she calmed down enough to think rationally. She was trembling slightly, but another part of her told her it was alright. This was Mister J, after all. She stopped struggling against the straps.

"Let me go. I helped you!" She looked straight up ahead to see his face above her. He rested his forearms on the table on either side of her head.

" _Helped_ me?" he echoed, lips twisting into a feral grin. "Did you really _help_ me, Doctor?"

Heavy dread filled her stomach. Her heart skipped a beat at the suddenly formal, mocking title - alarming her more than any violence he was about to impose on her.

"All your... _methods_. You let them happen, you _al_ ways watched. You left me in a black hole of rage and confusion. Now tell me, did that help me?"

"I did what you asked - everything was for the best - " His fist suddenly slammed down inches from her head, silencing her. He was moving like a possessed spirit, a laughing demon above her head, too close, too far away.

Still, a part of her remained calm - the two conflicting parts of her made her stop trying to get away. Eyes wide open, her hair torn out of its bun, she looked up at him, realizing she was completely at his mercy.

Yet, the way he looked at her, his pupils dilated and all traces of humor or glee gone from his face, a feeling of remorse took over. She had done this to him, or watched as Valdez or someone else did it. Resigning to her fate, her heart slowed down.

"Are you gonna kill me, Mr. J?" This was more merciful - she could at least give herself the reassurance that he had taken his time, he had chosen to do it especially with her, as a way of thanking her. A privilege.

"Oh no," he said, breathing deeply. "I'm not going to kill ya."

Her heart sped up, fluttering, sensing what it meant.

"Consider it an eye for an eye," he grinned down at her, briefly, before giving way for a concentrated and mockingly surprised expression. His gloved hands, stained with fresh blood, stroked the sides of her face gently. "I'm just going to hurt you. Really, really... bad."

The part of her that had stopped fearing him whispered to her, _stop fighting_. She looked up at him, a trusting look in her eyes.

"You think so? Well, I can take it."

He gave her an incredulous look and pushed a thick leather strap in between her lips, drawing out the action enough for her to really feel it. She knew it was for her own sake, to keep her jaws from crushing each other, but in the face of what she knew she was about to experience, it was a weak comfort. He had not bothered to give her any muscle relaxants, and she was sure he could see the way her heart skipped a beat.

He watched her intently as he placed the cold electrodes on her temples.

"Goodnight, Doctor Quinzel."

She closed her eyes.

 

* * *

  
Everything that she was, everything that had been, was rearranged and scattered. It was impossible to hold onto all the pieces and she watched them slip away, one after another, losing all the pieces of the puzzle that used to be her mind. The pain made her neck arch to the point of breaking, her nerves under such hard assault she started to lose feeling of them, as if they were being ripped from her flesh, thread by thread.

She was shaking, her muscles contracting hard as her entire body seized. Everything in her mind that she had ever known slipped away, as the electricity hammered on her consciousness. She was sure this was just a dream, a hallucination of the most cruel nature.

She struggled to open her eyes, but they were glued together, violent shivers and tremors racking her body. She could not feel herself breathing, only taking forced gulps for oxygen in between. It was hot and cold at once, burning and scorching her while ice laced her spine.

The voices were back, surfacing in mumbles and screams,breaking through the barrier she had used to keep them at bay. Nothing could hold them back, the constant chatter made her scream out loud to get them to stop. Her mind was being stretched in ten thousands of directions with every convulsive shock, tearing apart from the pressure. She was falling, deeper, deeper, and deeper still and a part of her vaguely realized this was where _he_ had been, she had finally seen it.

It made her feel closer to him, knowing he had been there. He was guiding her through the darkness, and she blindly followed. A whole new universe opening beneath her eyelids, an endless black hole that sucked her in. There was nothing there, but _him,_ her sole anchor.

Her physical body felt close to tearing apart from the sheer force of her seizures, but it was nothing compared to her mind. Yet, it took no effort to tear down the crumbling walls she had built up around it; she saw them turn to dust, blown away like sand castles.

Harleen was dying, fading away. Someone else was taking her place, she saw it for her inner eye, a beautiful girl with a manic light in her eyes, a bat on her shoulder and the brightest smile on her lips.

Harleen closed her eyes and another girl opened them.

Harleen,

Harlee,

Harley.

* * *

  
Intrigued, the Joker watched as the electricity worked her body, erasing almost every trace of the little doctor and leaving something completely new in its wake. Her rippling screams as she crushed the leather in between her teeth, her body almost bending in half, oh, she was _magnificent_.

There was nothing he loved as much as breaking a soul down and reshaping it. She was coming alive in front of him, stripped of the mask and pretense, and it brought him vicious glee. He was itching to mark her, to claim her, to leave his own personal imprints on her body and mind. She was something different, and that he had always known. She had _potential_ , tempting him to see just how far he could take it. Tempting him to see how much he needed to push her before her true, beautiful self emerged.

He did have to show her, though, just what it was like to be shoved down into the dark hole. She needed that.

Still, as her hands violently clenched and unclenched and her eyes rolled back violently into her head beneath her fluttering eyelids, before her arched back fell onto the table and left her completely unmoving, he knew it wasn't enough.

She needed more, more pushes to rid herself of the good girl and Doctor persona she had stuffed herself so neatly into. But this would do for now. She would never be Harleen Quinzel again.

* * *

  
The roaring in her ears slowly died down, and was replaced by a low buzzing.

It was over.

"Let's go." It was his voice, impatient, reaching her through the thick fog. She slowly cracked her eyes open. It felt like something was pressing her eyelids together; opening them took all her will-power. She was still lying on the medical table, the straps around her body unfastened. Her body twitched, she couldn't feel her legs and arms and her head was throbbing as if someone had just hit her with a brick.

Harleen heard the clicking of a gun somewhere in the back of her hazy mind. The suited henchman was holding something to her head, she couldn't even comprehend was it was, only _his_ voice, low and threatening.

"Ah, ah, ah, Jonny." Something the Joker did must have scared the henchman, because he immediately withdrew the object.

She turned her stiff neck the slightest bit to the right, and there he was, in the other end of the room. A purple coat hanging on his shoulders, his back turned against her. The henchman standing above her holstered his gun and turned away.

She forced herself up and stood on shaky legs, ignoring her muscles screaming in pain and her vision going blurry at the edges.

The Joker looked away in the distance, preoccupied with something else. Two of his costumed men were still guarding the room.

She looked around despite the numbing pain in her head, splitting and grinding her bones. There was broken glass all over the floor, big stains of blood, splintered wood and overturned chairs. An inmate that somehow had managed to end up in the room crouched in a corner with a hysterical smile. Two bodies were thrown on the floor, she recognized one of them as Valdez.

"Mister J," she said, forcing her lips to form the words. He gave her a look over his shoulder, then turned to leave.

It had taken a while for her hazy mind to understand, but now it dawned on her.

This was it. She had sacrificed everything for this moment. Their sessions, his words, everything they shared. It was just a game to him. He had taken advantage of her just as much as Valdez or any other woman. What did it matter that she was just a corpse by now, and Harleen wasn't?

Then, another part of her argued that it wasn't true - they shared _more_ than that. _Why else would he show you what he just showed you? Why are you still breathing? Because he decided that he wants you to._ That part of her was holding onto it so firmly, it washed away the doubt.

Blinding, hot rage welled up in Harleen. She was still shaking, her vision going black and white, but she gritted her aching teeth and stalked over to the Joker. The suited man turned to interfere but stopped abruptly as the Joker made a movement with his hand. He gestured for the three henchmen to leave.

She stood in front of him, saw his expression switching between amusement and frustration.

 _You are so stupid_ , another voice whispered, unnervingly clear in her head. _What did you think? What did you expect from a sociopathic mass murderer?_

In his face she saw the confirmation of her worst nightmare. He was not planning to bring her along. Maybe he wanted her to be humiliated when the SWAT team finally stormed the building. Maybe he had expected the electroshock to wipe her out and simply couldn't be bothered to finish her off now.

Maybe he thought it was funny.

She heard footsteps rushing past outside the medical room, more gunshots. Someone shouted: "Come on, hurry up! The cops are here any minute!"

The Joker adjusted the purple coat over his shoulders, ready to go. He was done with Arkham. Done with her.

The fury almost brought tears to her eyes. She had trusted him. Nothing he had done to her, nothing he could do to her, was worse than the realization that he was going to leave her.

"What now?" Harleen demanded, legs shaking violently like a newborn foal. "You're just gonna leave?" She wasn't sure if her voice was actually audible anymore, her teeth slamming together.

The amusement in the Joker's eyes was gone, she couldn't read him anymore. His gaze was different than she had ever seen it before. Now it was painfully like indifference.

Harleen felt like a zombie as she moved, struggling to keep herself on her feet. She was dead set on following him, he wouldn't get rid of her that easily. _No_ , a voice in her mind said darkly, _you won't be getting away_.

She took another step towards him and he watched her silently. His expression changed again, but before she could see what it was, the buzzing in her head exploded into white light.

Her knees hit the floor, then her face followed.

The footsteps faded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting dark, but I promise you this story is still pro Joker/Harley, which means that our favorite clowns will have much more coming to shape their relationship in the Suicide Squad version.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fair warning: Harleen is a particularly unreliable narrator in this chapter, as she is experiencing psychosis and dealing with the aftermaths of trauma. It's up to you to figure out what is real and what's not - who knows? (I do, but that would be telling). 
> 
> I'm about to switch up the rating for this story - it will be Mature at some point, not in this chapter, but so you know. Enjoy!

_You're gone and I gotta stay high_   
_All the time to keep you off my mind_   
_Spend my days locked in a haze_   
_Trying to forget you babe_   
_I fall back down_   
_**\- Habits (Stay High), Tove Lo**  
_

* * *

 

White, bright light. It flickered, disappeared, then came back.

She could see it clearly, spots of light dancing around her. They were so close she could almost reach for them, before a heavy dark patch swallowed up the light. The sound of her heartbeat in her ear, loud, slow and thumping, _I'm not dead_.

Useless anger and disappointment burning her. _I'm. Not. Dead._

Her mind was so heavy it was impossible to move. Her limbs felt useless, cold and dead, she wanted to crawl out of her skin but remained paralyzed. Warm, wet, sticky fluid in her hair. She couldn't move an inch, as if something was physically weighing her down.

She absently observed the lights beneath her fluttering eyelids, coming back and going down.

 _He's gone_. The cold, hostile voice scared her further back into the darkness and she recoiled, pretending she was dead. Maybe if she waited, it would happen.

The lights flickered.

She waited.

"She's alive!" someone shouted, far away, as if she was under water. "We found a survivor!"

_Go away. Go away. GO AWAY._

Her eyes slowly opened then, her sight a blurry mess, sharp lights bleaching her vision away to nothing.

A woman's voice in her ear, loud and clear, speaking with an unfamiliar accent. "Can you hear me, Dr. Quinzel?"

She stared unseeingly at the lights up above, perfectly still. She wanted to remain there, a corpse among the others. She wanted to be put to rest right there; the place that held such clear traces of _him_. It was the closest to him she would ever get, and she wanted to kill anyone _daring_ to remove her from there.

The woman wasn't speaking to her anymore. "Send paramedics to the third floor, immediately."

Heavy numbness and strange buzzing in her ears.

_Where is my body bag?_

People around her in bright jackets, moving her body onto a stretcher and covering her with blankets. The woman from before appeared again. "You're safe now."

_Dr. Harleen Quinzel, pronounced dead at 6:43 PM._

 

* * *

 

She just couldn't comprehend that he was gone.

She had woken up in the hospital the day after, and by the way the nurses and doctors talked she managed to put some pieces in place, which the police later confirmed. After they had explained her that she wouldn't be going back to Arkham for a while, she had stared blankly at the ceiling for hours, trying to grasp the pieces of her memory that kept escaping her.

He was gone.

At first she had been blazing with fury, but it was impossible to keep a feeling that intense for more than a couple of minutes before her head swam and she downed the painkillers they gave her. Then, the grief, self-hatred and shock set in, but she forced herself to remain calm so they wouldn't move her to the emergency psychiatric ward. She needed to get out of there.

They had insisted on keeping her there a day for observation, which she found utterly laughable. She heard them talk; they wondered how come she had no physical wounds at all, save for a bruise on her head, while most of her colleagues were riddled with bullet holes.

In fact, and she quickly got that information out of a police offer gullible enough to come across her, Valdez' body was found with a stab wound in her throat, and her face was cut up. Dr. Arkham had been beaten into a pulp inside of his own office, and she suddenly realized what that sound of flesh being mauled had come from, as well as the bloody bat.

Even Mr. Lee, one of Harleen's previous patients, was found with a bullet through his head despite never leaving his own cell.

In the aftermath of the destruction, she realized that the Joker had taken out his anger on everyone, but it proved to be of no comfort.

They had expected her to react differently, she knew. Not that she had been close to any of her colleagues, but seeing their mauled bodies sprawled in front of her was supposed to be straining. She didn't care to fake it.

She was interrogated by the police already at the hospital, but judging by the state they found her in and their general inability to do their job, she was out of any suspicions. There was no technical evidence strong enough to pinpoint her as an accomplice.

Harleen didn't say a word more than necessary to anyone, her mind going on autopilot and constructing a vague, albeit fully believable story about being surprised by the gunshots an ordinary Tuesday afternoon on her way from coffee break.

In all honesty, it wasn't technically a lie. Her recollection of the day in question was scattered and foggy, leaving blank spaces where she had no idea what went down. Only _him_ \- the image of him was burned onto her retina.

After a day at the hospital and the nurses constant worrying about her utter lack of outward reaction, she finally decided that she had had enough and went home despite their advices. She did not want to return home either, but anything was better than seeing their curious and pitying looks; it awakened her rage and demanded a violent outlet.

They couldn't forcibly keep her there since she wasn't tearing the skin off her face - not yet - and seemed unscratched. She wasn't about to crush their illusions.

* * *

  
The first week she had woken up every day prepared to go to work, fulfilling the routine, before reality hit her. She didn't remember much of those days, nothing of importance, but the need to go back.

There was not much of a workplace left to go back to anymore, for that matter. Dr. Arkham was dead, Valdez was dead. Everyone she had known there was dead. The police had managed to contain many of the inmates in the chaos following the incident - anyone that had not wandered straight into the crossfire, that was.

The remaining inmates had been moved to an emergency facility east of Gotham and Arkham Asylum was temporarily shut down. Staff had been flown in from all over the country and Harleen was put on paid leave.

Well at home, she was alone and free to indulge in her mind. Most of the time she found herself staring blankly in front of her, trying to focus her gaze, but it slipped away.

She tried to imagine his motivations, if only to keep herself focused on the thought of him, refusing him the chance to slip away to the now foggy and hazy part of her brain. She held onto the thought of him so firmly he always stayed on the forefront of her brain.

A masochistic practice it was, constantly keeping herself on the edge, but it was better than the numbness that threatened to shut her down. When she thought of him, she could work her body and mind up to feel _something_ , even if she ended up screaming.

Dr. Arkham had been killed most slowly, as Mr. J had done it personally, beating him to death with that bat. She always knew that Mr. J hated him, even more so after issuing their separation. Valdez had been left to bleed out, she knew him enough to know that he wouldn't waste his time watching her die. Still, her death had been far from quick and she knew why.

Mr. Lee - she knew the reason behind his murder too, and even that thought stirred something within her. Mr. J hated sharing her attention with other patients, so she should have seen that one coming from a mile away.

She didn't lie to herself, though. She was aware that the voltage he pumped through her body had been bordering on fatal, and she could have joined the rest of them easily. She knew that she had been the only fool there - letting go of herself like that, getting in so deep - it was her own fault.

Hook, line and sinker, she had fallen right into his web and got tangled up. She had been stupid, but she couldn't find a part of herself that regretted it.

If this never happened, the Joker would still be confined in his straitjacket, robbed of the thing he valued the most, drugged up in a padded cell, miserable. Valdez and Dr. Arkham would still be skipping around in their castle in the air, doing what they wanted to the patients. It brought her the slightest part of glee to know that they were not breathing anymore.

A part of her couldn't help but wonder where he was, what he was doing. The first week she was completely cut off from the world, not watching the news or talking to anyone, but she hoped he was enjoying his freedom.

Was he thinking about her at all? Had he just shrugged her aside, as if she was just another body on the floor?

That thought always had her crouching into herself, shaking so violently she couldn't breathe, so she kept it at bay with every fiber of her being. She had bit back every trace of emotion since she left the hospital, and her eyes remained dry.

There was nothing before this, nothing after, she existed completely without a past, without a future, just right now.

She knew that everyone wondered why she remained so cold. She had been forced to attend the funerals of her colleagues, and she didn't care to feign any kind of interest, letting her indifference show in her expression. When they patted her shoulder, offered her fake sympathy or honest condolences, she just shrugged it off.

If she were to slip up, even for a moment, she would lose it.

* * *

  
Two weeks later, she developed a new routine. Something to keep her steady, something to fill up the void.

Once she had picked herself up enough to move, eat or dress again, she went out on the streets. It was impossible to sit locked up in the apartment, staring blankly at the muted TV screen and spacing out for minutes or hours at a time. The dizziness and a sudden gaping hole in her memory emerged at the strangest times, and there was nothing to distract her, nothing to keep the thoughts away.

Tomorrow would be just as endless as before, and she just couldn't stand it without turning to a left-over wine bottle and sleeping pills she had generously prescribed herself with in the beginning of her sessions with _him_ all those months ago. It drowned out everything for a while, but when she returned to consciousness, she was in a darker place than before.

Normally, _before_ everything turned steadily more abnormal and downright upside down, she would never go out after dark. Gotham had its fair share of criminal gangs raiding the streets at night, and her neighborhood wasn't the safest place. She didn't even go to the convenience store after dusk, not trusting anyone she didn't recognize.

But now it was the only trace of solace she had, leaving her apartment behind for the night. The cold air was freshening, cooling her aching head.

This new routine could never replace the old one and it itched her, but it was better than nothing. She would wake up somewhere around noon, sometimes earlier or later, absently find something to eat if the gnawing in her stomach was persistent enough, then uselessly sit around waiting for the dark. Then she would roam the street as long as she could before coming home late, exhausted and aching, downing a few pills to help her sleep. Rinse, repeat.

She walked around for hours, not caring at all if someone followed her or not - she still had her keys in her pocket, but honestly, what did it matter?

He was gone.

And she was so, so terribly alone. She almost wanted laugh at herself, there she was, roaming the streets.

It didn't take her long until she realized that she was looking for him. Her body had been acting on its own, and the first time her mind caught up, she was taken aback in shock. The streets were a cheap pretense - she couldn't imagine him being anywhere else than out there, so they became her solace. Pathetic wishful thinking.

One afternoon, when she dragged herself out of bed and crossed the living room, she noticed she had left the TV on all night. GCN was reporting something, and like a zombie she moved to grasp the remote and increase the volume.

Munching on some dry crackers she found in a cabinet - she was running out of food - she remained standing and watched the news report. There had been a mass-shooting at a restaurant. A purple Lamborghini, license plate reading "HAHAHA" had escaped the scene and was now looked for by the police.

This drove her out on the streets with even bigger determination. She knew it must be his work. So he was having the time of his life, spreading chaos and mayhem around Gotham.

A night shortly after, her third week in, she was pacing the street like usual when she noticed the sound of footsteps coming closer. She had been followed before on a couple of occasions, aside from the usual catcalls and cars driving by way too close and slowing down, but something about her facial expression seemed to make them change their mind.

These steps were determined. Glancing uninterestedly over her shoulder, she saw three men trailing her, hands in their pockets, keeping their eyes set on her. In the dark streets sparsely lightened, they were free to roam wherever they wanted. She realized that she had walked into an industry area, tall brick buildings on each side of the road.

Harleen stopped, not for any reason she could recall, idly noticing she still had her keys in her pockets. Another glance told her that the guys had closed in on her, now encircling her lazily from different sides.

"Hey, watcha doin' here, sugar?"

She passively turned to look at the tallest of the guys, quite muscular.

"Wanna hang with us, girlie? You get ten bucks for a blow." He laughed loudly and the others chimed in, their rough voices bouncing against the solid walls.

A part of her that she didn't recognize was tempted to put this guy to the test, see was he was after.

 _He thinks you're a scared, defenseless little girl who got lost in the Narrows_ , a voice in her head laughed maliciously.

"Yeah? Right here?" she said, still partially uninterested.

He reminded her of a dog as he closed in on her, watching her.

"Fifty." She flashed him a fake smile, baring her teeth.

He stopped, just as she expected, laughing. "Do you hear that?" he asked the others. "This bitch thinks she's got class."

_I've got a doctorate, dog._

The slight curiosity was replaced with disgust. For a moment she had been prepared to see what would happen, go along with it, anything, maybe it could provide a new distraction. No, she wouldn't. The thought of them touching her, just like _he_ had touched her -

She turned around and moved to walk away. A hand roughly grabbed her arm, yanking her back.

The man's fingers were almost bruising her flesh, and one of the other guys closed in, confidently stopping in front of her as she tried to pull herself away.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

"Don't be like that, dollface."

She froze.

The grip on her arm tightened to pull her back, but instead he stumbled backwards, letting go of her as he clutched his face. "Fucking bitch!" he spat, but she was onto him again, jabbing the sharpest points of her keys into his eyes, at the same time kneeling him hard in the stomach.

As his knees buckled, she got in another hit on his groin, then swept him off his feet with one sturdy swipe of her leg. One of the other guys moved to interfere, and she struck him with closed fist, hard enough to see the blood spring out of his nose. Adrenaline pumping in her ears, heart beating strongly, she felt her teeth bared in a grimace.

The third guy backed off as she threw herself at the other male, using her gymnastic flexibility to avoid his outstretched arms and pounding him into the ground. Once he was down, she pressed her heeled booth straight into his solar plexus and got a satisfying scream in response.

She stared at the two men in front of her on the ground, panting harshly. The first one was clutching his bleeding eyes, cussing loudly and moaning in pain. The second sat up prepared to strike at her again, but she swung her leg out and hit his head hard enough to leave him unconscious.

"That's right!" Harleen bellowed at the last guy of the trio, saw his disappearing back as he turned and bolted. "You better run back to your mama, pussy!"

She turned to the first guy. "What's that like, grossface? Better think twice what you call a lady that isn't _yours_ ," she growled.

She immediately left the area and headed home, clutching her bloody keys in her hands. Still high on adrenaline, she glared daggers at any men she passed. They left her alone; the sight of her must have had some effect on them.

There was no telling why she had reacted like that, only that single word that opened the barrage and brought a drowning tide down on her, slamming into her brain with force as new, fresh memories returned.

_The Joker had been staring at her the whole session, throwing her planned schedule slightly off track. He had a way of focusing his gaze with a burning intensity, making her unable to ignore his stare. Eventually she looked up from her notes, questions forgotten._

_"Mr. J?"_

_"Ah, Doctor Quinzel," he purred and shifted slightly in his straitjacket, "Where are you from?"_

_It wasn't unusual for him to show interest in her in this way, throwing in questions here and there and not giving up until she had told him the truth. She quickly found out that when he wanted to know something, it was impossible to keep it from him.  
_

_"I grew up in Gotham," she answered, fiddling with her notes. Still with his eyes dead set on her, he cocked his head, then gave her one of his special, toothy smiles.  
_

_"Ever_ seen _the city?"_

_"Well, yes, obviously, since I live here -"_

_"No, no, no," he purred, blue eyes piercing her thoroughly, "Have you been out there, down in every hole? Have you ever stuck your pretty face down in the gutter, Doc? Seen the city from the_ inside _?"_

_She shook her head, unsure where he was going, hastily scribbling down his words in her notepad._

_"Oh,_ I _have," he replied, finally letting his gaze wander around the room, "I have seen_ everything _. It comes alive when the_ normal _people are gone._ " _  
_

_Before she had time to stop herself, she said: "As a matter of fact, I don't like going outside after dark."  
_

_He seemed greatly amused by the thought. "Why?" he inquired, flashing his teeth, "Afraid the wolves will eat ya?"_

_She felt a slight warmth rise to her chees. "I'm not afraid."_

_"Oh really?" He raised his brows, mocking her, challenging her._

_Harleen found herself staring at his lips, unable to keep herself from speaking. "I don't want to end up in the sewers, that's all."_

_He laughed at that. "Such a pretty little thing like you would be devoured in an instant, there wouldn't be more than your pinkys left for the cops to pick up," he promised her, licking his lips._

_The condescending tone prompted her to show him, to defy his mockery. Harleen leaned over the table, seeing his eyes widen a fraction in interest before he concealed it. He leaned closer as well, intrigued._

_She basked in his full attention. "Once a man tried to rob me on the street. He ended up in the river."_

_He burst out cackling loudly, eyes lit up with a vicious light. "Wanna see my city, dollface?"_

She stumbled into her apartment and kicked her shoes off, looking for the sleeping pills to shut her mind up, knocking the bottle over on the counter and watching them rain down in the sink, hands shaking, dizziness and nausea overwhelming again.

His face was clear in her inner vision now. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking, what had caught his attention or roused his amusement. She wanted to be near him so much it physically hurt, her body screaming in the stinging withdrawal.

She forgot all about the sleeping pills as the waves washed over her stronger; another memory hit her and she squeezed her eyes together tightly, leaning over the sink and struggling to breathe through clenched teeth. She felt her chest contract painfully, and a ripping sound left her throat, over and over again. Her vision was blurry, mascara burning her eyes, her entire body shaking.

She had no memory of getting out of the bathroom, only suddenly she was collapsing onto the mattress.

* * *

_  
Harley._

His voice, as clear as if he was beside her. Still lying in a heap on the mattress, she slowly opened her eyes.

"Are you afraid?" he asked her, his expression ever so changing, millions of tiny emotions flickering in his eyes. He was leaning over her, unrestrained. Something cold traced her face.

"No," she answered, as her heart hammered away. A steady calm flowed over her body and she reached up her hands to pull him down with force, but only found air.

"I've never been afraid of you," she spat.

He chuckled softly. "That's a lie, now isn't it, _Doctor_?"

She gritted her teeth. "Don't call me that."

"Oh Har- _ley_ ," he sang the words.

" _Doctor_ Quinzel is dead and gone," she said fiercely, glaring at him through the darkness. "You killed her."

He incapacitated her without touching her, leaning over her, his breath ghosting over her face. All she could do was to lie back, hands resting uselessly on either side of her body. His face was right above hers then, his gaze boring through her.

A movement in his face, the tiniest shift, and then his lips touched hers. He pulled back before she had time to react. "You can't run," he told her, his voice low in his throat and dangerously smooth, "You just can't run from me any longer."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not planning to. You're not getting away."

He laughed at this, eerily, before he closed in again and kissed her hard. "I can't wait to see you try, Harley", he said, leaving her breathless and agitated.

She was alone again.

* * *

  
It was far from the first time she had woken up in the middle of the night with his name on her tongue, but this left her in a bigger frenzy than before. In the morning, she found her apartment in the same state it had been when she passed out, no signs of forced entry anywhere.

She sat in the shower for hours, feeling the water turn freezing, crouched in a corner. Shadows in the outer corner of her vision, closing in on her if she didn't keep her eyes on them all the time.

The cold water made her focus, clearing up her dizzy head. By now, the pain had manifested as a dull ache in her chest, ripping particularly bad if she let her thoughts stray.

For the first time, she felt her facade starting to crack. The whispering chatter in her head got louder, mixing with her own thoughts. She couldn't help but recall their nightly conversation, tried to remember how his lips felt when they grazed hers.

At last, she slammed her head against the tiled wall, again and again, until there was nothing left by the loud buzzing in her ear.

The part of her that was hell-bent on tracking him down and confronting him was even stronger. This time he wouldn't be able to leave her cold. She got up and turned off the water, pure willpower keeping her upright. She inspected her face in the mirror, noticing a faint bruise on the side of her temple, nothing too noticeable.

She didn't bother to dry or even de-tangle her blonde tresses, just sweeping them out of her face. Mechanically she put on a pair of dark jeans and a shirt. Maybe she had been wearing those for weeks on end, she wouldn't have noticed.

She grabbed her keys and headed out, leaving her coat behind. The news had reported about his killing sprees around the city for about week, his shiny car always in focus. Even now, she could hardly blink without seeing his face for her inner vision again.

She walked down the street, as her habit was, wandering around aimlessly, trying to shake off the feeling of him. She followed the pavement, acting against the impulse to just sit down on the ground and let the members of Gotham's underworld have her.

Here, alone, with the dimly lit street and a black sky above her covered in smoke, she could find a moment of peace.

She headed towards the center of the city, losing track of time, pacing the pavement as the streets got wider and more populated. The sounds of cars driving by, safe from the speed limits in the dark, lulled her into a sleepy state of mind.

She crossed the streets after the lights above switched to red, getting a faint satisfaction from the way the cars beeped aggressively at her.

The sound of a roaring engine and tires squealing against the wet street made her look up. Out of some misplaced, slumbering self preservation instinct, she moved a step to the side as a car approached a few hundred yards away, taking a corner in high speed, the bright lights blinding her for a moment.

She glanced at it, and her heart almost stopped. She knew that car.

Suddenly the emotions broke through the frail blockage she had put up around herself. Her eyes stung, her throat burned, the weight of his betrayal so evident she could almost touch it.

She was too far gone to focus on anything else, the realization burning in her chest: _This is not over_.

Harleen stepped out on the street, facing his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: How well do you handle breaking up on a scale from ten to Harleen? I must say this was a hard chapter to write, I felt so bad for her. Needless to say, she's the prime example of how not to handle heartbreak. I love writing for these two, driving each other insane in the most unhealthy ways.
> 
> Thanks for reading, leave a review!


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So this is where we start to stray from canon. The beginning of this you might recognize from the deleted, extended scenes, but for two reasons you won't get the same thing as in the movie. One - we don't have all the full scenes yet. Two - we soon will, but this is not a rewritten version of the novelization and my job is to give you something different.
> 
> This story will use canon as a background and build more on top of that. The final extended cut of SS will contain these scenes but they won't have the same dialogue. Even if these scenes end up far off the mark from canon endgame, it doesn't matter because it's not my intention.
> 
> Thank you all for your support and encouragement with this story, I appreciate it so much. You guys are the best!

_You fight the light, you push it away_   
_You're gone with the wind at the end of the day_   
_You play it safe so there's nothing to win_   
_I wanna come closer but you won't let me in_   
_I wanna go where you're going_ **_  
_ _**-** _ **The Great Divide, Velvetine** **

* * *

She was too far gone to focus on anything else but the realization burning in her chest _: This is not over._ Harleen stepped out on the street, facing his car.

 _Come on_ , a voice whispered in her. The blood pulsed in her ears as the car didn't slow down, approaching her with a speed that told her he was about to flatten her.

She remained standing as it closed in on her, the adrenaline rushing and screaming at her to move, but it was surprisingly easy to push that instinct away. Keeping her eyes wide open, she wanted the hurt and fury on her face to be the last thing he ever saw of her.

_Lying, selfish, manipulative son of a bitch._

She didn't flinch as she heard the tires screeching, at last, he floored the brakes and the car glided across the street and came to a jerking stop, leaving inches between her and the car.

A part of her was overwhelmed by the sight of him, and she stared at him until the anger burned her tongue. The force of the hurt was crippling, almost physically pinning her down, but she straightened up. With adrenaline still powering her brain and effectively shutting her last self-preservation instinct down, she stood right in front of the shiny Lambo, breathing harshly.

"GET OUT OF THE CAR!" Harleen screamed, slamming her palms hard against the hood of his car. Furiously, she made eye contact with him. He sat in the driver's seat and looked casually at her, as if she was just a bird that hit the windscreen.

She didn't know what she had expected, maybe some sign of recognition, aside from the fact that she was still standing. Still, nothing. As if the months of close contact didn't mean a thing, as if the words he told her, the way he touched her didn't mean anything. As if he hadn't eviscerated her mind and soul completely and filled her up with him _._ As if she hadn't left her entire life behind for him, because he made her believe she could.

And now, he was going to pretend that it never happened. The rage and hurt reached the boiling point, knowing he could hear her.

"I SAID _GET OUT OF THE CAR_!"

His expression changed, looking somewhere in between _you're-so-annoying_ and _well-would-you-look-at-that_ , but he still made no move at all, just aggressively revving the engine as if he expected her to move.

Harleen clenched her fists, suddenly changing tactic. "Run over me!" she roared. She knew he had a history of driving through crowds for fun, and she was well aware that a switch in his brain could flip any second, and he would shrug and push the pedal. She doubted the impact would kill her, or do much more than throw her off, but this time he wasn't getting away.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? You're holding up traffic! You are too much of a _coward_ to face me!"

Maybe he had some kind of underlying pride that she could wound deep enough to ask for retaliation. She forced in a breath between her teeth, the last piece of her self-control slipping away. " _PUSSY_!"

Another moment passed and she was growing increasingly sure he was going to run her over. A familiar display of frustration on his face, she could read him easily now, as if they hadn't been separated for almost three weeks. His brow was slightly furrowed, eyes flashing beneath a smooth exterior, teeth slightly bared. She was pushing him harder than she ever thought she could.

Swiftly, before she realized what he was doing, he got out of the vehicle and advanced on her. Her breathing hitched as he stopped right in front of her. He was so close, and her emotions threatened to short-circuit again.

"Well, well, _Harleen_ ," he drawled as if nothing had happened and they weren't standing on a deserted street in the middle of the night, "Long time no see." There was something mocking, yet snakelike in his movements, he couldn't seem to stand still for a moment, twisting his hands, swinging his hips slightly.

She collected all her anger and focused it, her voice hard. "You said you'd take me with you. What happened with that? Did you just forget?"

He gave only a feigned surprised look at that, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Last time I checked, you left me behind."

"I let you live, didn't I?" He looked exasperated, as if she was a child nagging at him. Yet, his eyes remained dangerously alert, his voice deceptively smooth.

"Live?" Harleen almost laughed. "Yeah, they almost mistook me for a corpse. Not my view of teamwork."

"I can set that straight, right now," he suddenly threatened, the danger in his voice enough to break through her mood. She knew she was playing with fire pushing him, aware of the gun strapped to his waist, but still couldn't bring herself to back down.

Once again, the sight of him brought her yearning back with even bigger fervor than before. He looked much healthier, not quite as scrawny and skinny as in Arkham, well-suited in his freedom, and that was almost enough to throw her off track. He wore a burgundy colored open shirt that clung to his thin, muscular frame, an expensive suit on top of it, matched with sweatpants, and from the way he carried himself, she realized that he must already have started to re-establish himself in Gotham's underworld. He was free and nothing held him back anymore.

In all honesty, that's how she wanted to see him.

Harleen met his stare, her voice steadier than ever before. "Then do it, J. Set it straight."

She knew she had no hold of him, no reason to give him as to why he shouldn't kill her. So she simply remained standing and he circled her. She didn't bother to turn around to follow his steps, just slightly turning her head as he went.

Her body was already betraying her, exhilarated with his attention, those now light gray eyes focused on her and the visible pulse point in her neck. Something akin to a grin played on his lips. Maybe she should have been scared, knowing the lion was right there, about to strike, but she refused to close her eyes.

He stopped in front of her again, an almost incredulous expression on his face.

"The good little doctor decided to come running after big bad me, huh?" He suddenly brought his hands up right in front of her face, clapping hard. She kept herself steady. "Still not _scared_?"

"Harleen Quinzel is dead," she replied, the déjà vu from the previous night echoing in her. "She is no more, and you know it."

The mocking expression disappeared. More serious than she had seen him before, he took a step closer.

"Then who _are_ you?" One of his hands cupped her cheek, fingers pressing into her bone. "Hmm?"

Stripped of his teasing and taunting, he was open, his eyes asking for an answer. A month ago she wouldn't have known. She would have stuttered, given him the wrong answer, but now there was no doubt about it.

"I've never been afraid of you. I meant every word I said back then."

"But what if," he drawled, releasing his grip and gesturing with his hands, "This is just an _impulse_? When your good little doctor conscience kicks in, and you want to _fix._ me. _up_? Are you going to turn on me then, hmm? Try to reverse the _damage_? Or are you going to _run_?" He looked deadpan at her. "I might not let you."

"I've already told you," she replied fiercely, "I was with you since the start. I'm here because of you."

"Oh, so that's it? Got nowhere else to go?"

She stared back at him, pushing away the thoughts of his obvious distrust. "You must be blind," she bit back. "You think I would turn against you after all this time?"

"Why wouldn't you?" He growled at her. "I'm not the type of _guy_ that _good_ little girls settle with."

"I am here because I chose this for myself. I chose you." She glared at him.

Even though she was still partially wrapped in a haze of anger, her decision remained. It had not even been a choice, since there was not a part of her that ever was loyal to Arkham. When faced with the options of letting them lock him away forever or helping him gain his life back, she had never doubted.

Her hands moved before her mind caught up, catching his face in between her hands, and she kissed him deeply. Her body reacted at once, relishing in the feeling. He pulled away after only a moment, easily slipping out of her grip and the mocking look in his eyes were back.

He didn't believe her.

He must have thought she just used whatever weapon she had as a female, taking advantage of physical closeness to convince him. He didn't trust her, and that thought brought the fury back.

"Hey, what are you doing? Get off the road!"

She suddenly became aware of the truck that had stopped behind the Joker's car. The driver approached them angrily, bursting their little bubble. The Joker turned around halfway, disregarding her, and that was the last straw.

"Look at me!" She snatched the gun from the holster beneath his coat, fumbling for only a moment before she raised it, directing it at the unsuspecting truck driver. Her finger found the trigger and the man dropped lifelessly to the ground, a large red stain blooming in his abdomen.

Her forearm shook slightly from the force, her heart rushing as the Joker turned his full attention back on her. There was an almost lazily amused look in his eyes and he chuckled quietly.

Seething, she put the barrel of the gun against his forehead. She felt the weight of his weapon in her hand as she removed her finger from the trigger, but kept it firmly pressed against him. He made no move to back away, just eyeing her with renewed interest, something sparkling in his eyes.

"You think I'll turn and run as soon as I grow tired of it? You don't think I gave up on everything?" she said , hating herself for the way her cracking voice exposed her. "I did this for you. There is no going back."

He chuckled softly, eyes narrowing, before raising his hands and gesturing encouragingly. "Ohh, Harley, I do believe you. So why not kill me yourself?" His eyes were dead set on her now, boring through her in a way that felt positively threatening despite their positions. "Do it," he growled, teeth bared, "Do it, do it, do it."

For a moment, she hesitated. The feeling of pure power and control coursed through her, realizing his life was fully in her hand. All it would take was a finger movement. The thought was dizzyingly painful.

His voice grew softer, smoother, and she relaxed her arm a tiny bit while still keeping the gun against his forehead. "You are almost there," he coaxed, licking his lips briefly, "So why stop now?"

"Why me?" she asked, meeting his intense stare, "Why did you let me live?"

"Oh, why?" he replied, "It wouldn't have been funny."

"Bullshit."

Something flashed in his eyes, but he remained calm. "You wanna know _why_?" he drawled. "You weren't like the rest of them. _You_ were already halfway _here._ I didn't have to do much, and _that_ was fascinating."

She stared at him, insecurity creeping up her spine. Then, he moved like lightning and snatched the gun from her hand, before swiftly putting it back in his holster.

_Was I really that close?_

A crushing backhand slap sent her tumbling right down, the back of her head colliding with the ground.

As she struggled to regain her breath, her cheek stinging, she realized that he had lured her into a false sense of security before the inevitable retaliation. She sat up slowly and he moved to stand above her, looking down on her with an unreadable expression. His anger was gone as quickly as it emerged, and she met his gaze without fear.

She hadn't truly been afraid of him for months, and the only thing that occupied her mind was how close he was, that she finally had confronted him. "I'm not going to run," she said, looking him straight in the eyes.

His mouth twitched, as if he couldn't quite decide how to react, he only stared at her for a few moments. Then, after a glance at the approaching traffic behind, he swiftly moved around her to the passenger side of his car.

She stood up, warm and light-headed from the adrenaline, and approached him. He let his hand brush across her arm, softly. The other one moved up to her collarbones, his thumb and index finger tracing the exposed skin between the tops of her partially un-buttoned shirt.

His entire hand rested on her heart for a moment, before slowly traveling down between her breasts. The warmth bloomed in her chest, all anger dissipated. The craving for him overrode everything else, an electrifying sensation in her lower belly. She moved her hands, carefully, and placed them on his narrow hips. She felt strong, lean muscles beneath the fabric, her mouth went dry and her heart rushed.

Still aware of the threat he posed, she moved closer until their hips touched, and his free hand tightened around her arm. Holding her in place, with one hand sliding down underneath her shirt, she saw him clench his jaw.

"You want to be like me, Harley?" he asked, locking his gaze intently with hers. "I'll show you where I came from." He moved the hand up again and let his palm rest against the side of her face, gently.

She realized that he was giving her a choice, maybe the last one she would ever have. She nodded breathlessly, and he released her.

He left the passenger door open for her and walked over to the driver's side again. "Come on," he purred softly, gesturing more impatiently at her now with one hand, and she heard sirens in the distance.

She complied, her blood singing in anticipation. They had come full circle.

 

* * *

 

ACE Chemicals was deserted at that time of night. Standing on the platform high above, Harleen gazed at the vats with the churning yellow liquid down below. It was a vast space, and an even greater way down. She remembered being afraid of heights, sometime in her past life. But there was nothing more to fear.

He had confidently led her there, determination in his steps. "This is where I was created," he said, watching her.

She realized that the reason he brought her there must mean something. He had never once mentioned his past, and she had not tried to pry. Eventually she had come to the conclusion that he simply didn't have one worth mentioning. He had appeared out of nowhere, with no former aliases or identities. But this bubbling hot acid down below was the key to his world, and he had given it to her.

He had come out of it at some point, transformed down to his very bones and literally shredding his skin.

She ached to be like him.

_Would you live for me?_

Her oath, it reminded the slumbering parts of Harleen of a wedding. A twisted wedding where the oath meant life or death. He told her something he would repeat to her one faithful day many years later, in a different yet similar situation, when her oath would mean everything. "Death is easy, it's just the final act. But life, life is a _game_ _._ " _Are you ready to play?  
_

He let his fingers caress her neck, then softly grazed her jaw for a moment. He touched her in a way she didn't know he was capable of, in a way that positively set her skin on fire. "Do you want this?"

_I do._

He watched her as she stepped to the edge. Fear fluttered in her; the way down was impossible, like jumping from a bridge. But she wouldn't back down now, not ever, and with that thought in mind she turned her back against it. She didn't want to see the surface come rushing towards her as she fell, she wanted to see his face.

Harleen smiled, spread her arms wide, and the moment felt divine. He wasn't smiling, not an ounce of amusement or mockery in his face. His deep gaze was set on her, offering her all the reassurance she needed, and she knew that was how she wanted to die.

She leaned back on her heels and felt a tingling sensation spread through her body as gravity pulled her over the edge. The adrenaline rush was dull, a calm overtaking her even as it felt like she had left her stomach sixty feet above. She fell with open eyes, arms outstretched.

Maybe it was all a dream, caused by electroshock. In her dream she was drowning, sinking deep below the surface. She never learned how to swim, and all her life she had been confident it was a skill she didn't need. Now she was sinking fast and deep, feeling herself come undone piece by piece. His hands sought her, found her and pulled her out of the darkness, and when he brought her to the surface it was utter bliss.

The archangel of death and destruction held her in his arms and he wouldn't let her go. They were together in the deep, just like in her dreams. His mouth brought back the air she had lost, forced life back into her lungs, just as she decided that she would happily die in his arms.

* * *

He rested one hand on the back of her neck to keep her head above the surface. They were pressed flush against each other and the color was draining from their clothes, her hair and skin. She was being reborn, just like he imagined her in her true element. Surfacing in front of him she was the most gorgeous lifeless body he had ever seen.

He had miscalculated something, something that was strong enough to be physically painful, and he had thrown himself in after her. He didn't care to stop and analyze it, that something had changed so drastically and his deeply buried instincts acted for him.

When he breathed air into her unmoving body, her eyes finally opened. A complete surrender to him, devotion in her eyes. He smeared her mouth with his colored lips, then pulled back to look at his masterpiece. She was _new_ and simply delicious, oh, all traces of the tense and frigid little Harleen was gone. Her red lips were spread in a grin like his own. She ran her small hands down his arms and back, and his body grew hard against her.

He laughed maniacally, threw his head back and he didn't know all the reasons why. He laughed because she was _finally_ like him, because he had just broken his own rules and made her _mean_ something, he laughed because of the total strangeness and awkwardness of these new emotions, the irony and the _joke_ in it.

She laughed with him, a brittle and delightful sound, and he watched her. She was his, completely, and his grip around her body tightened, pulling her into his chest.

_Mine._

Then, her head slumped over his shoulder and her arms locked around him forcefully. He chuckled as he felt her steady breathing, _Already sleepy? It's only three in the morning, baby._

He lifted her limp body up into his arms. She looked as if she was still smiling, a bleached, peacefully smiling corpse. He traced one hand across her face, feeling the corroding skin, then down to her red lips. He kissed her again, tasting acid and something else that belonged to her, before moving to pull both of them up.

A queen had been born out of a pawn, and she was ready to come out and play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued.
> 
> I must say, this is the most twisted pairing I have ever written for, nothing can come close to how dark and twisted this is, yet so intriguing. But the darkness is an inevitable part of it and it's a hell of a challenge to write.


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker takes Harley to Wonderland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: This chapter contains sexually explicit scenes. We're now switching up the rating. 
> 
> Regarding my updates: I can't tell you my update days because my schedule varies a lot, sometimes I'm very busy with school and sometimes I have lots of free time so it depends on that. My goal is to always update something at least once a week. I really recommend signing up for an account on FF.net or AO3 and subscribe to my story. That way, you'll get an e-mail alert as soon as I update and you won't have to check manually!

* * *

**PART VII**

_I got you pushing deeper than you ever would_  
I wipe the smile off your face  
'Cuz I love it when you scream  
Running for the light  
But you won _'t make it,_  
_You_ _re up against the devil_  
**\- C'Dawha - Elli Ingram**

* * *

 

Jonny Frost looked up from his cell phone as a sound alerted him - the boss was back. He immediately got to his feet and barked some orders to the rest of the henchmen that had been slacking off on the lower floors. But nothing had prepared them for what they saw.

When the Joker walked through the door, his clothes badly corroded and bleached, carrying a unconscious woman in his arms, the men immediately stood up at attention, curious and slightly unnerved. One look from the Joker made them quickly turn their eyes away from her limp body. He gestured for Frost and his right hand man followed him, puzzled but obedient.

They entered one of the spare bedrooms, equipped with a bed and bathroom. The penthouse apartment they had occupied, that previously had belonged to a now dead millionaire, had many rooms, but the top floor was Joker's own space. Frost was occasionally allowed in there, but the rest of his regular men stayed on the lower floor, where this room was.

The Joker placed Harley on the bed. Her head rolled back, but she remained unmoving. He stroked a bleached strand of hair out of her face, watching her with great interest as her lips trembled in her sleep. A grin spread over his face as he leaned over her.

Acid simply had a profound effect on anyone, especially on skin as smooth and soft as hers. It brought him a sense of satisfaction to see the small spots of corroded skin, her eyelashes fluttering against a snow white face. Annoyingly vulnerable, like a sleeping child. He placed his hand on the side of her face. Touching her was always interesting, to see how she reacted even when not conscious. And indeed, she leaned into his touch, and he pressed his fingers more firmly into her skin. She was completely infested by him, and he would be lying if he didn't admit that he liked her this way. She was _his_.

And right then he wanted to act on that, but she needed to be awake so she would really _feel_ just what his ownership felt like.

He straightened up, giving a sideways glance to his right hand man. "Keep an eye on her," he said before leaving the room. He didn't need to express the threat lingering underneath.

Frost remained standing, unsure of what exactly his order included, and waited. He had recognized the woman at once, the doctor from Arkham that the boss decided to play with. She was turning and twitching in her sleep, trembling slightly, mumbling incoherent words. She looked like she had just taken a dip in a vat of chemicals, and knowing the boss, it wasn't that unlikely.

Hesitant, noticing how her clothes seemed to have burned into her skin and barely covered her enough, Frost picked up a blanket and placed it carefully on top of her, making sure not to touch an inch of her. She still slept uneasily, but stopped twitching. Her arms fell out on the sides, and then her turning and shuddering stopped and she lay like a corpse for a good three hours.

* * *

  
One moment she was encased in a restless slumber, and the next she was wide awake, her head throbbing and her skin crawling with an unfamiliar sensation. The first thing she noticed was the suited, vaguely familiar man sitting in the other end of the bedroom, eyeing her deadpan.

Harley moved one hand to her dry, cracked lips, stroked her fingers over them and saw that they were smudged red. A faint smile rose to her lips.

Despite her stiff and throbbing body, her mind felt strangely clear. It felt like waking up inside a dream, wrapped in a sense of absolute surrealism. She moved her feet from side to side, pressed her back into the mattress for a moment and realized she was still able to move. Slowly she rolled onto her side and sat up, removing the blanket from herself.

After checking her reflexes, she braced her legs and stood up. Her legs carried her, albeit unsteadily. She glanced down at them and saw the fabric of her pants that she must have worn in another life, melted away in some places and bleached light blue. Her shirt had turned into a grey color, as if all of the blue had just been sucked right out of it. She took a step forward, straightening up and moving every limb, wriggling her toes and fingers. She checked her face and realized her glasses were missing.

Then she became painfully aware of the sensations. Her scalp was burning, as if she had rubbed hair bleach into it and left it far too long, and her skin was itching, flakes coming off when she scratched her arm lightly. Her face felt heated, reminding her of strong sunburn. Her skin was colder than usual, yet still burning and it felt like a killer headache was approaching.

Well, she had had worse.

This dream was fascinating; mostly because she did not feel like herself. She wanted a tutu so she could pretend she was Alice in Wonderland. This boring, gray room did not have much to feed her imagination, cold walls staring at her from all sides. She giggled to herself at the thought; _there must be a rabbit here somewhere_ …

The suited man's eyes followed her movements. "Boss brought some clothes for you," he spoke, sounding perfectly indifferent. "You may use the bathroom if you wish."

He gestured at a small, black bag in the corner of the room. Immediately cheered up by the thought of getting her old rags off her, Harley moved over. The throbbing in her head was distracting, but she picked up the bag and gave the man her widest smile in return. "Thanks, -"

"Mr. Frost."

She looked around impatiently. "Where is Mr. J?"

"He had some business to take care of, but he'll be back shortly. You're going to wait here for him."

That she could gladly do. She couldn't wait for him to be back - the mere thought sent a chilling rush through her entire body, her heart almost skipping a beat. She was going to look her best for him.

She entered the bathroom, locked the door, and immediately peeled the old strips of clothes off her. She winched as it felt like she was getting half her skin off at the same time, but in awe, she saw how the skin underneath was shockingly light, like patches of snow in between her old, more tanned shreds of skin.

She was _new_.

The small bathroom looked more elegant than she had expected; white and black diamond-shaped tiles covering the floor and walls in patterns. She stared at it in awe for a few moments, all the diamonds, she really must be in Wonderland after all. She turned on the shower and the water was immediately warm. She was reminded of her old apartment, happy that she would never return.

The water made her wince, every drop felt like splitting her aching skin up, but she was happy to finally get the sticky liquid off her. She trembled slightly as she grasped the soap and started washing it off herself, the stiffness in her entire body still lingering.

Voices on the other side of the door caught her attention. She froze and listened with pounding heart.

"She's in there," Frost said to someone.

"Now go and get the boys ready." It was _his_ voice, low and purring. Another door opened and closed, and Harley stood still.

His voice again, now closer. "Harley," the Joker said, voice sing-song and smooth, "Open the door or I'll knock it down."

A giggle slipped past her lips and she turned off the shower and skipped to the door. "Are you the big bad wolf?"

His voice dropped to a low growl. "Little pig, let me come in." She heard the sound of something scraping against the door.

"No, no, not by the hair on my chinny chin chin," she chanted, impatiently leaning against the door.

She heard his dark chuckle as something worked with the lock, and she hoped he wouldn't go straight to Jack Torrance antics. "Well," he said somewhere between a purr and a snarl, "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff-"

Harley turned the lock and yanked the door open, not caring that she wasn't wearing anything.

He was standing on the other side, twirling a customized, long-bladed knife in his hand. He had changed to new clothes but his green hair had a hue of something yellow. At the sight of her, he gave a feigned _oh, wow_ look before entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind them. He clicked the lock in place and suddenly they were alone, face to face.

He took a moment just to stare her down, and she felt her heart rush even as she giggled. "I'm shedding like a _snake_ " she proclaimed.

He moved his gaze, at last, before casually unbuttoning his shirt and showing his own chest - clearly less peeling than hers, but the tattoos on his stomach looked enhanced. The sight of him did something to her, and she moved closer.

 _Touch me_ , her mind screamed. There was a tightening between her legs; she wanted him so bad. He still didn't move, so she placed her hands on his lower stomach.

"This is a funny dream," she commented as he finally reached out and pulled her close with one solid movement.

Letting go of the knife, both of his hands grasped her waist. He discarded his shirt so their bare torsos pressed against each other. Harley reached up and pressed her lips hard against his. He responded with a low growl as his hands slid down to the curve of her hips, letting one hand slip lower to the moist heat between her hips.

Suddenly he pulled her into the shower, removing his pants. She was completely focused on kissing him as intensely as she could and didn't even notice when warm water hit her back. He pressed her up against the wall, covering her body with his own as she wrapped both her arms and legs around him as hard as she could.

He kissed her aggressively, his hands on either side of her head, biting into her lip until she tasted blood and she moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to do something to him and he gave a low groan in return. Harley clung to him as tight as she could, feeling him hard against her, as his mouth continued assaulting hers. She felt blood run down her cheek as he moved his mouth down to her neck, sucking hard at the skin and bruising it.

She moaned again as he moved his mouth to a new spot to mark her again, from the underside of her jaw down to her collarbones. Each and every sucking friction was both deliciously painful and sweet, when his teeth grazed her aching skin. Finally he thrust into her and she found his skin, caught it in between her teeth, and bit down.

Her desire was driving her absolutely mad, she wanted to devour him, to swallow him whole, and her grip around him tightened to the point of choking as he pressed her up against the wall, holding her there and slamming into her. The friction of her sensitive skin rubbing against him and the wall was painful, just enough to give a new edge to the sensation of him rocking into her.

The more she clung to him, the more it seemed to amuse him to slow down. He entered her with slow, long strokes, filling her up completely, and chuckled against her cheek when she groaned out in frustration. He was busy marking every part of her throat, owning the very source of her life, as his body worked hers.

Harley felt her ending approach quickly, gasping. She scratched at his back and that seemed to work him up - he threw his head back slowly, giving her access to his neck. How many times she had admired it, the arch and curve of that smooth neck, and now she was roughly licking and nibbling at it with every grunt he gave.

He pushed her back into the wall with a force that almost knocked the wind out of her. He slammed his hips into hers, again and again, and she realized that this was just as new to him. He marked his ownership of her from the inside out as she clung to him. His movements grew harsher as he approached his ending, one of his hands entangling in her hair. She cried out and he groaned into her mouth as he came.

"This dream is a killer," he chuckled.

* * *

   
Afterwards, they ended up sitting together on the shower floor, water running and the thick steam surrounding them in their own world. Harley leaned back against his chest as his fingers threaded her hair; at first it had heightened the burn before slowly helping it settle down. He had seen every part of her body, where her skin was coming off and revealing something new underneath.

Her skin was prickling, stinging, and she tilted her head back so she could look into his eyes. One of his hands drew patterns across her stomach, down between her legs and making her stir slightly. The other one was loosely wrapped around her.

She had never been more content in all her life, as the water washed away the last remains of her past. There was nothing to say, and she hoped he could see it in her face, that she would do anything he asked, forever, without question. She had never before experienced devotion so strong, a love that blossomed on her face, in the mixed fluids between her legs. He only needed to say the word and she would do anything. Anything for him.

The sun was rising over Gotham, changing the light to golden gray. Eventually, they had to leave their dreamland for a while. The Joker dressed and left to talk to Frost. She would rather not spend a second more apart from him, and considered clinging to him or simply following him, but he told her to wait upstairs and so she did.

A part of her was curious to see more of his world, how he lived. After washing the last acid and fluids off her, she dried up and chose a red halterneck dress from the bag - it contained a bunch of various dresses smelling like perfume and smoke. Then she left the room and ascended the staircase leading up to the top floor. The entire hide-out was luxuriously decorated, and considering that the Joker had only been free for about three weeks, she came to the conclusion that he simply must have taken over the place from someone else.

She curiously wandered through the hallway, peeked into closed doors and tried to ignore the increasing burning of her skin. The warm, yet cold burning sensation wouldn't fade. The fabric of the dress was irritating her skin further, but she was starting get used to it.

She finally found what she assumed was his bedroom - a master suite with a large bed in the middle, in front of the tall window framed by thick curtains. Purple sheets on the bed, golden interior details. Harley grinned as she caught sight of herself in the mirror - the short dress didn't cover much, leaving her shedding skin and bruised neck on full display. He had marked her completely; it was as obvious as a red traffic light, blue, red and purple cobwebs, a full bite mark on the side of her shoulder.

_He owns you now._

She stared at her own reflection, her grin faltering as she became increasingly aware that there was something in her eyes that was not Harley. Something in those blue eyes that shouldn't be there. Something that was tempting her to analyze, to leave this blissful haze she was wrapped in, to leave Wonderland.

A sudden, cramping feeling in chest gave her the answer.

"Go away," she told her reflection, feeling her breathing speed up. "You're dead."

_Harleen, Harleen, Harleen. You've lost yourself. Why even bother? Look at you. This is what all that electroshock did to you. He did this to you._

A familiar voice in the back of her mind, followed by another one, speaking quickly, whispering, floating together. She had heard them during the past weeks, but never this strongly. As if someone had turned up the volume, she couldn't argue or push them away.

She blinked, suddenly slamming her fist through the mirror and watching the shards fly all over the room.

She stared unseeingly at her bloody fist. _Yes, look at yourself, what are you? You're nothing like him. You're just a little doctor who got lost. I see you, Harleen. I see what you're trying to do. You play pretend.  
_

Her eyes wide, breathing quickly, the room was spinning in front of her. Her legs trembled and she sank down to her knees, clutching her head.

" _Valdez, you can't do that. You don't have his legal consent," Harleen pleaded in the office next to the ECT room, where the Joker was being placed on the table. It didn't matter that she was practically begging woman she had made her rival.  
_

_The other doctor raised her eyebrows as she skimmed through the journals. "We don't need consent for a special case like patient like 2671. You know the procedure."_

_"But I have examined him and I can verify that we have made great progress. There is no need for further electro-convulsive therapy. I assure you –"_

_"Quinzel," Valdez cut her off sharply, her brown eyes boring into Harleen's, "I am his doctor and I have established that he needs this treatment."_

" _On what basis?" Harleen bit back, her anger showing through. Fuck playing nice.  
_

" _I am under no obligation to discuss this with you. Furthermore,_ you _never had his consent in the past, but that doesn't seem to bother you." Dr. Valdez walked towards the door, but shot a sharp glance back at her. "In my honest opinion, Quinzel, I think you just want to be the one doing it yourself."_

_Ignoring the insult, Harleen hurried after her into the treatment room where the Joker was strapped down. Valdez motioned for the nurse to inject him with the muscle relaxants. Valdez calmly looked into his journal again. "Mr. Joker..."_

_He didn't even look at her, to her great annoyance, fixing his eyes on Harleen who stood by the door._

_She knew she had let him down. He had asked her, over and over, to make sure his ECT treatments ended. She had promised him that they would. She had failed him, again._

_The look in his eyes was darker than she had ever seen, and through her stinging eyes, it almost brought her to her knees._

_A glance from Valdez and Harleen knew she had to leave the room, leave him to his fate. As soon as she was out the door, she started running down the hallway, until she found what she was looking for. She crushed the glass in the little red box on the wall and pushed the alarm button hard._

Harley grit her chattering teeth, forced the sounds back from herself, trying to shut the crowd out, one by one, but the weight on her mind was heavy. She heard steps approaching quickly.

I'm not Harleen. I'm not. _I'm not!_

* * *

  
When she woke up, she was strapped down again. At first her heart rushed, then she drew a long breath and felt calm, steady. He was somewhere above her, she heard his low breathing. She was lying on a hard surface in an unfamiliar, dusky room, still dressed the way she had been before. The lamp directed at her reminded her of something pleasant.

He stood next to her, a ghostly beauty with red lips and metallic teeth.

"You ever been to Wonderland, Harley?"

Her eyelids fluttered shut and she shook her head slowly.

"You're like… Red Riding hood," he declared, a dark glimpse of amusement in his eyes. "You still haven't opened your eyes."

She widened her eyes then, as if to try to prove him wrong, smiling feebly.

"You're holding on," he chided, only working up her excitement with every heartbeat. "We can't have that, now can we?"

"No, we can't, Mr. J."

He tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes boring into hers. "You know the story, Harls?"

She nodded silently.

"You've been following this little _path_ that your boring society _laid out_ for you… you followed every step like a good girl. You did what they said and played by their _rules_." He grinned. "But one day you spotted the wolf, isn't that right? You disobeyed all the rules your safe little world was framed into. You took another step away from the path; and you let the wolf devour you."

His teeth glimmered somewhere above her. "Got lost, did you, Doctor?"

"I'm not lost." Her voice was determined, a new light in her eyes. "I see it."

"Oh, you do?" he challenged, disappearing out of her field of vision.

"I see… _the right path_."

A sudden pain in her wrist made her wince. "Oh, that is not a _path_ ," he reprimanded, a sharp edge to his light voice. "There is no _set-out_ way to go." His voice was suddenly hard, like a slap. "The path is just an idea - _a state of mind_."

Suddenly, as if the very meaning of the world had appeared in front of her, she understood what he meant.

The pain intensified and she realized he was grasping her injured hand. "Mr. J", she breathed, "I'm -"

"Hush." He placed one hand over her mouth and she immediately felt silent. His other hand stroked her face, so lightly she could hardly feel the touch.

"You know the thing about pain?" She saw his eyes somewhere above her now. The hand over her mouth slid down to her neck.

"It's deep, but it has a bottom. Once you break through, you'll come out on the other side." His grin grew wide; she felt her heart rush as his fingers tightened around her throat. "But most people, they _crack_ their skulls trying to break through. Or they drown, going the wrong direction - _up_ instead of _down_." He chuckled.

She felt his cold fingertips right underneath her jaw now, her life was completely in his hands. The vulnerability made her veins flood with desire.

A moment they stayed like that, she looked calmly into his eyes, saw the light in them, waited for his grip to cut off her air supply and steadily push her life away. Then, his hands released her unexpectedly, but she didn't move her gaze away.

"The only way to break free -" he moved around her, hands snapping, "is to dive headfirst _down_." His metallic grin flashed in front of her.

She grinned back at him, and she knew. She had wandered too far off the path, willingly defied all the order, right into the hungry gap of the wolf. A wide hole had emerged in front of her, the only way down to Wonderland - a one-way ticket.

Her breath was even calmer now, forcing her heart to slow down, beating in a drugged pace in her brain. Her mind was clear, finally rid of the wonders and doubts. He circled her, eyes dead set on her, a focus in his aura that made her body tense up with anticipation.

"You want to fall deeper?" he asked her, his breath ghosting over her face. "You want to be where I am?"

"I always do," she replied instantly. "Wherever you go, I will follow."

His hand settled on her leg, moving in agonizingly slow movements up to her hip bone and grasping it. "You're just… _so good_."

She saw the black box placed on a table, and she recognized it - a small device able to give out strong currents through two electrodes. It was not hospital equipment; rather home-made. She knew that those gave higher voltage, several hundred volts more than the ECT device at Arkham, and suddenly she was impatient.

"Do it," she told him steadily.

_Surrender becomes power._

She raised her head and he crushed his lips against hers, kissing her violently and deeply, as if he was equally addicted to her. She moved without defying the leather strapping her body to the make-shift table.

"Will you wait for me?" she asked, head spinning with euphoria.

"I won't let you go." When he put the open electrodes to her skin, this time she received it all with a relaxed smile, welcoming the feeling.

* * *

There was a child inside of her, Harleen, whispering, holding onto her soul with bone hard fingers, _don't go, don't go_ , etching into her skin, but she was losing the battle. Harleen called for her, taunted her and shouted at her, tried to keep her grip around the edges of her mind with force, leaving bleeding marks. Harley pushed her away, her head rolling to the side as her body seized.

It was the strongest form of torture she could ever imagine, harsh and violent it ripped at her mind, splitting her completely one last time. The currents shut down any form of coherent thought, shattering them as her soul wrenched itself inside out. Her head moved from side to side harshly, she almost choked on her own saliva, there was a dark, rippling edge to it.

Somewhere in the buzzing roaring in her ears, his voice was like a lullaby to her. She felt his touch, it burned her face. His eyes, wild and manic, watching her. She reached out her arms. _Wait for me! I'm coming!_ She pushed Harleen down in the water in her mind, choked her and drowned her until there was nothing left, saw how her body withered away in the strong acid and nothing but her bones remained. Harley collected them and crushed them in her hands, letting the ashes spread in the deep.

Her skin was absolutely burning now, she could feel the fire traveling through her cells and her bones were cracking. Through it all, she heard his voice reminding her of where she belonged. He took her high enough to survive, to break free from the crushing mentality she had been burdened with before; he took her above the clouds and made her the queen of the sky.

Finally, she opened her eyes, teeth bared, and she was released from the straps. She felt strong, renewed, a dark patch in her mind.

She looked up and his face was right above hers, watching her with anticipation.

"Hello… Harley," he breathed throatily.

She took a deep breath, feeling the corners of her mouth pull upwards in a wild grin. "Hello, Puddin'."


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley is introduced to the underworld.

**PART VIII  
**

* * *

_I am a new breed of doll_  
_Psycho baby doll gone wrong_  
_Tool-belt with a lollipop_  
_Curling iron, Kalashnikov_

 _Sugar and a razor blade_  
_Acid, pink lemonade_  
_That's how baby dolls are made_  
_We misbehave, we misbehave!_  
_**\- Baby Doll Gone Wrong, Skye Sweetnam** _

* * *

  
She came down the golden staircase leading to the bottom floor, and everyone's eyes turned to her. The way she walked, soft and graciously, yet with a swiftness to her that made them aware of just how quickly she could move if she wanted, had them all on their toes.

The club-goers immediate response was the one of seeing an exotic animal; they shuffled around, curiously trying to get a peek through the blasting music and crowd of bodies, pushing, stretching. It wasn't the first time the rich and well-dressed customers saw an attractive dancer, but this was out of the ordinary.

A cloud of something sweet floated around her, like bubble gum and melted sugar, yet metallic, like a blade. Blonde hair, dyed at the tips, cascaded down her back when she raised her chin slightly to look through the crowd. A deceivingly soft smile played on her lips.

If they didn't know better they would assume she was a fine lady, the kind of woman that sipped champagne and moved at the very top of society, a woman who never got her hands dirty. Sparkling blue eyes seemed to enchant them as she smiled, and they were drawn in like flies to a jar of honey, destined to drown. For a moment all they saw was her angelic appearance, felt the overwhelmingly sugary smell. Then, she changed.

Her red lips split, revealing teeth, drawing upwards in a wicked grin. She was a predator disguised as the most beautiful woman they had ever seen. Yet, none of them had a clue.  
  
She let her pink tongue sweep across her lips, and she sauntered through the room. The customers split like the Red Sea for her, curious about this new dancer that none of them had seen before. Harley swung herself up onto the platform in the middle of the club and slipped into the cage of bulletproof glass.

They were watching her like the cattle they were, their arousal thickening in the air. She was not there for their sake, the common animals that visited this club to get drunk and touch each other, no, the cattle was there for _them_. To make money for Mr. J, to entertain them both.

When they had made enough money for him, when they had fulfilled their only purpose, it was time for slaughter. The same routine every time. J told her he skinned a man last week. Harley giggled at the thought, then grasped the golden chain hanging from the ceiling and climbed up. It was time to play.  


* * *

  
Harley had spent the entire day preparing for her official introduction, her first night out at his most well-known club, Grin and Bare It. She was eager to finally show Gotham's underworld who she was, no one would ever question her place beside him.

A couple of days had passed since their chemical union and most of her old skin had come off, revealing the new white underneath. J had taken her out "shopping" the other night - they raided an expensive store and she took all the things that caught her fancy. She ended up with a truckload of sparkling things, red and blue and gold, and tons of new make up, as he didn't like her using his.

Standing in the big bathroom on the top floor of the penthouse, she stared at her reflection and tried to decide what she was going to wear. She had dyed the tips of her hair blue and pink, like bubble gum.

There was no trace of the old in her, nothing at all. As if her mind had been emptied, completely, and left a reflection of J instead. Memories of her past life were floating, bleached, but sometimes, if she really tried she could recall them in full color. Those intense three weeks after the Arkham breakout had faded into almost nothing, but she remembered other things - leaning over a frail table and kissing Mr. J for the first time. Her memory was unreliable and fuzzy, sometimes deceiving her, and she had decided it wasn't worth keeping. Everything she had then, she had now in even fuller intensity.

She eventually decided to go for a short red and black lace dress that ended mid-thigh and showed off a great amount of cleavage. She painted her lips dark red, to match his, and finished with black and red eyeshadow. She was going to look her very best for him, so good that no one would ever forget the sight of her beside him. She skipped into their bedroom again when she was finished and found that Joker had returned from whatever thing he had been occupied with all day.

To her delight they matched perfectly; he wore a crimson shirt half-way buttoned up, a black blazer over it, and dark tracksuit pants. She skipped over to him to give him a big kiss.

"Sit down," he told her, watching her intently. Harley obediently sat down on the large bed, trying to contain her excitement. These last days had been very new for both of them - she had been onto him every moment and he had not seemed to mind. When she woke up from her very last treatment, she had been overeager to please, and they ended up in his bedroom for a violent, passionate and insanely gratifying night. After she woke up in his bed, it had automatically become hers too.

He picked something up from the corner of the room, a box, and placed it beside her on the bed. She was to occupied watching his face to care about the preparations he made. He sat beside her on the silky covers and slipped his hands into his purple latex gloves. It reminded her vaguely of something pleasant, causing her lower belly to tighten with excitement.

He looked straight into her eyes, those blue boring through her, and she gazed back without blinking, smiling widely. "Got something for me, Puddin'?"

"Don't move," he purred and lifted a small tattoo gun from the box. One of his hands gripped her upper arm, and his fingers stretched the skin out as he gripped the machine with the other hand. He dipped the tip of the needle in black ink.

She remained completely unmoving, biting her lip with anticipation. The sensation wasn't half as painful as she had thought, just a mildly uncomfortable scratching. Maybe she couldn't feel it in the same way anymore, but she wouldn't mind. Pain meant pleasure, those two were intimately connected to each other - pain was just a pathway to more pleasure.

In awe, she looked at J. He didn't need any stencil paper or outlines; he worked with deep concentration on his face, his free gloved hand keeping her skin tight as he worked with the needle in a perfect, unrelenting 45 degree angle. He dipped it repeatedly in the ink and he did not seem to be the least bothered by the lack of proper preparation.

She admired the tattoos on his neck and shoulders meanwhile. Four Aces, all cards in, and endless sharp lines, creating HAHAHA over and over. He must have done many of those himself, and she glowed with pride that she was being marked by him. Admiration swelled in her chest, of course he was skilled at any kind of handiwork that included sharp objects, as a compliment to his bright intellect.

After a while he pulled back and stared intently at her face, in a gaze so focused she felt a warmth rise to her cheek, enhancing her blush, and she felt absolutely delirious from his attention.

Harley smiled brightly, only for him, always for him, but he was focused on something else. He peeled the latex glove off his free hand and put his palm against her cheek. His cold touch sent a warm wave through her, a jolt of arousal between her hips. He moved his hand away way to soon, and she suppressed a whine.

He dipped the needle of the tattoo gun in ink again, gave her a look to remind her to sit still, then moved it to her face. This time it felt actually painful, like scratching her skin hard with sharp nails, but she smiled widely through the whole process. When he was finished he looked at her again, and his lips drew back to give her his Harley-smile.

When she noticed she was allowed to move, she jumped up and over to the big mirror. On her right upper arm there was a big, ornamented J in shaded black ink. She grinned with delight. On her cheek he had drawn a black heart, a few inches under her eye. The skin was reddish and flaming around the edges, and it made the heart seem to glow.

"Thank you, Mr. J'!" she exclaimed happily. Then she caught sight of his right hand, the small tattoos on the bottoms of his three fingers; spade, club, diamond.  
On his pale ring finger, there was no tattoo, only a heavy golden ring.  
The heart on her cheek - all in.

Harley wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, pouring all her overwhelming feelings into it.  
Her chest felt like it was going to explode from the sheer pride and joy she felt, to be this close to him, to be a part of him, and she automatically adjusted her breathing to his. He returned the kiss, then pulled back. "Let's go."

She bit into his lip softly and he purred in return, and his hands suddenly grasped her waist.  
"Please, Puddin'," she whispered, giving him her most intense pouting look. "Pretty, pretty please?" She moved her hands over his arms, up to his neck, teasing him, and he groaned into her mouth.  
" _You,"_ he growled, "Are testing me."  
Harley tilted her head. "Yeah? Show me that."  


* * *

  
Her carefully applied make-up ended up smeared, and when she inspected herself afterwards she had lipstick smudges between her legs and all over her throat, along with fresh new bite marks. He was in a similar state, his white skin stained with her cherry smudges.

Harley happily gazed into the mirror, a grin on her lips, as the Joker got up. He straightened out his clothes and smoothed back his messy hair, before calling for Frost to get the car. He still managed to look much more kept-together, he just wiped the smudges away from his slightly bruised throat and looked as if nothing happened. Harley on the other hand was still flushing all over, proudly inspecting new fingerprints on her thighs and ass, giggling to herself as she applied new lipstick and more mascara.

She absently licked some salty liquid away from her cheek and made sure her dress was not torn in any visible places. She was still slightly weak in her knees, a warm hot spot between her thighs, filled with satisfaction. They never did it soft, just indulgent and hard, and nothing was more gratifying.

His smell was all around her, mixed together with hers, that certain scent of wet and raw arousal in the air. Everything about him was enthralling. She would never need alcohol or nicotine again; being with him was a constant high with few dips. She found herself increasing the dose before she ever had a chance to come down.

When she had fixed herself up - she proudly left the bite marks on full display - she followed him to the car. To her delight she still felt liquid dripping out of her.

He entered the club before her to introduce her properly. Harley waited outside, as she heard his magnificent voice present her, and it was her cue. The moment she entered the main room and everyone's eyes landed on her, she knew she was made for being in the spotlight.

Her eyes were only set on the Joker, walking towards him through the crowd, determined to show everyone who she belonged to. She was more than the diamond of the deck - she was the queen of hearts.

These people had never met the sad, old Harleen Quinzel and they never would. Harleen never would have been famous, respected or _feared_ , like Harley. It was funny, how such a "promising young woman" as people had called her, ended up there. The silent Harleen Quinzel, who never let her hair down, who wore only natural makeup and kept herself so straight-laced for her superiors, who only allowed herself to indulge in a pencil shirt and high heels for a certain patient. Harleen, who was so tidy, who promised her dead father she would _become something_ , who had a doctorate, a psychiatrist license - ended up straddling the lap of the most powerful man in Gotham, rubbing against him as she leaned in and told him just how much of a bad girl she had been.

Funny, how complete her life was. Harleen Quinzel had kept her desire behind locked doors and Harley Quinn acted on it as soon as it aroused, she put it on proud display for the whole world to see.

She whispered in J's ear and he purred at her in return. One of his hands settled on her upper thigh and squeezed. Despite the fact that both of them found their release in one another just an hour before, it was not enough. She pressed herself down on his crotch and gave him a wide, toothy grin as she felt him grow hard.

"Do you like that, Puddin'?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Daddy's got some things to take care of, so be a good girl and _wait_."

She giggled and pouted. "Don't ya wanna show off your girl?" Her fingers threaded his muscular shoulder slowly. The look he gave her sent a chill straight to her core and she impatiently rubbed herself against him. He wasn't falling for her seductiveness just as easily in public, he was the only one in the place able to resist her, to her frustration.

"If that's the way you want it, Mr. J," she pouted before withdrawing from his lap, knowing she couldn't defy him in public.

"I'll play with you later," he told her, his tongue running over his lips just long enough for her to grow wet with anticipation. The way he looked at her told her that he definitely was going to make up for this temporary inattention.

After his long detainment at Arkham, he was busying re-establishing his underground crime empire, and it included doing 'business' with various other mob bosses and wanted criminals. A couple of high-status thugs entered the VIP booth and Harley slipped out of it, bored.

The glass cage, placed on a pedestal in the middle of the club, owned the spotlight. She easily slipped through the crowd, felt the collective heat and strong perfume mixing with sweat, with one thing in mind. She entered it and shoved the stripper to the side.

A quick glance at the Joker's booth told her that he currently was focused on the gangster bosses, but that was about to change. Just the thought of him watching her was gratifying in a way she never thought was possible.

Harley crouched, widening her legs, before slowly raising up in her full length and rolling her head back. The high heels made her taller than she was used to, but she liked it. She knew that the aching, still reddish J on her upper arm was fully visible, showing his ownership.

She stretched out, slow like a cat, ran her hands along her thighs and flashed more milky skin. She turned around, bent down without bending her knees, then moved up again and spun around, swinging her hips. The beat of the music spurred her heartbeat on as the warmth spread along her skin. She noticed more and more people in the crowd turning to look at her, some of them just let their glances pass, other stared for longer, both men and women.

Harley flashed them her widest smile and turned her hips from side to side, raising up her arms. She split her legs, went up, then took a leap and cartwheeled. When she landed on her feet and breathlessly moved her hair out of her face, she saw her audience. Every pair of eyes in the club were focused on her. Soon she was moving up and down, twisting and dropping to her knees. With a jerky movement she placed herself on all fours, showing off her backside.

She leaned forward on all fours, widened her hips a little to give the on-lookers a view of her tong, then thrust herself forward and tilted her head back, jaw slack. She heard whistles now, shouts from the audience. She wriggled her hips from side to side invitingly. Then, as the music switched, she turned around and was crouching again, widening her legs and closing them again, flashing them all what they wanted to see so desperately. She closed her eyes and pulled her hair back. This was what she had been born to do, she knew. She owned this, she owned _them_.

She shot a glance back at the VIP booth. J was staring at her, his teeth slightly bared, and that look could have made her knees go weak before. Now, they brought her to an absolute high and she was as steady as ever. No more unsteady legs. The other men in the booth stared too, in fact, everywhere she saw people gazing at her.

Knowing she had J's full attention, with the grin of victory on her lips, Harley moved faster. Her high heels slammed into the floor as she moved, up and down, twirling around the chain. She ended up on her knees, spread wide, leaning back and pressing her chest against the glass. She pressed her breasts up against the frame and cupped them. The reaction from the crowd was wild.

Another look at him and she saw anger flash on his face - she suppressed a giggle and twirled around the chain with the grace of a ballerina, swinging one leg up in a straight angle, then splitting down. She made a mental note to ask him for a pole later. All her gymnastic training finally paid off, and at last, she was not doing boring repetitions in front of grandparents and soccer moms.

The short dress was just covering the end of her hips, going up and exposing more of her every time she slid up and down. Using the thick chain as leverage, she climbed up, wrapping her legs around it. A last look at him - he stood up, eyes wild and flashing, and the arousal pooled between her legs. He did not need to emphasize the command with words _._

Harley slid of the chain and made a theatrical bow. Then she slipped out of the cage, cheeks flushing, her plump lips parting as she approached him.

"Puddin?" she panted when she entered the booth and gracefully moved over to him. His chest was heaving. His free hand wrapped around her waist and his fingers dug into her hip bone, where she already had finger-shaped bruises from him.

"Wanna play?" she breathed, staring up at him. He growled deeper than she had ever heard before; she knew for a fact that she would feel those teeth soon enough, but he turned them both towards their guests.

The two thugs looked quite distressed, grasping their own guns.  
"Now, gentlemen," the Joker said, still keeping a hard grip around Harley, "May I present to you - the one and only, Harley Quinn."

She smiled sweetly at them. "Nice to meetcha, boys."

They paled as they looked between the Joker, who despite his light tone and wide grimacing smile had something positively feral in his eyes, and Harley, who showed off all of her teeth.

"You enjoying her?" Joker asked. "Watcha think?"

They looked like mice caught in a corner in front of a cat, and Harley giggled delightedly.

"Well," one begun.

"Hmm?" the Joker purred, and she felt his gun touch her back as he pulled it out of his holster. "Caught your tongue? You seemed to enjoy the show. "

"She's fine," the other one blurt out, tipsy and unsettled - a funny combination.

"Oh, is she?" Joker gave a shark-like smile and moved to stand in front of the man, plowing straight through his comfort zone as he leaned in.

Harley watched the other man, who looked even more uncomfortable.

"Y-yeah," the first one stammered. "I mean - I'm not -"

"You think she is _fine_?" J's voice was casual, as if he was commenting on the weather, then, as swiftly as he said it, the man suddenly had a knife in his trachea. Joker grinned at him, putting on a friendly display as a spray of blood emerged from the man's throat. The thug bent forward with the knife embedded so deep that only the handle was visible, gurgling and coughing as the blood spread onto the front of his leather jacket, and froth flowed out of his mouth.

The other man, pale and wide-eyed, grasped his gun and moved to stand up, but Harley planted the heel of her shoe in his chest a moment later and kicked him straight back. "Aww, don't you wanna play with us?" she chided with false cheerfulness. "We're having so much fun!"

"What the hell, man, let me go or I'll-"

"Ah, ah, ah," Harley reached for J's gun, then shot the other man in his pelvis. He gave an intense cry of pain and slumped over, clutching at his wound desperately, unable to get up and move.  
"Please, I didn't mean it like that, just let me go -" He all but wept, begging for his life. "I would never -"

His companion was now unrecognizable, slumped forward as his neck artery emptied its content onto his clothes. Harley briefly watched in wonder - she had no idea that a vein could produce so much blood in such a small amount of time.

The shot man trembled violently as he looked up at Joker. J's lips were split in his most terrifying, wolfish smile as he leaned forward, but hard rage still flashed in his eyes.

"You would never?" he taunted him. "You would never do that?" He cackled loudly, getting the attention of more people through the golden drapes, and fearful eyes stared from all directions.

"Oh, Harleeey," J purred, "Show him what _you_ would do."

She gleefully unloaded bullet after bullet into the man's body - stomach, kneecaps, shoulders, tearing loud shrieks of agony from him, until the Joker waved his hand and she shut the thug up with a last bullet to his head. Sticky substance coated the wall behind the corpse and Harley burst out laughing.

The Joker watched her for a few moments, breathing heavily, before straightening up.

"You've finally emerged from your shell," he purred and took her face between his hands. Harley leaned into the kiss, feeling him claim her and nibble at her lips with delicious friction. Then he pulled back, grinning.

She understood what he meant. She felt high, she felt fresh, the music felt clearer and louder, physically pleasurable. Even the smells in the air felt sweeter and every beat of her rushing heart was strong enough to feel. She had entered a new body, a new state of mind; the other woman in her was long dead and gone. She was completely _new_.

The Joker moved back to one of the corpses, walking with the same relaxed posture as if he was just strolling on the beach. She saw the handle of his knife glint in the man's throat and he ripped it out, sending a violent flood of blood across the floor. J sloppily wiped it off, then presented it to her.

She looked at the switchblade with great curiosity. The thick, sturdy handle had black and ivory plated sequins. The silver blade was long and sharp, elegant, slightly jagged at one side. He flipped it shut and handed it to her, and his eyes glimmered.

"You do not go anywhere without this," he warned her darkly, and she immediately strapped it to the inside of her dress. "I'll get you a gun later."

She caught sight of something else on the man that she had shot, something glimmering. Harley moved over with great interest, and that was the first time she noticed the Joker's henchman Frost sitting miserably in the corner. She had not taken more notice to him than if he had been a part of the furniture. In some ways he was, because he was always there to shadow Joker in some way.

Frost watched her with a stone-faced expression, as if the scene he just saw was an everyday-occurrence. Harley ripped the thick golden watch off the dead man's wrist. She looked appreciatively at it, then fastened it on her upper arm. The gold complimented the red of her dress in a magnificent way, and she still had no other jewelry.

A trophy of her first, official kill.

The Joker gave his henchman a dismissive glance. "Clean this up, would ya?" Then he held out his arm and Harley walked over to his side, turning away from the bodies bleeding out over the plush leather seats and the soaked cream-colored carpet.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her out of the VIP booth. Those who had heard the gunshots through the loud music knew better than to freak out, but everywhere she saw faces in awe, fear and worry. His grip around her was tight enough to let her know that he was not pleased with her public show, but the rest of her actions seemed to have put him in a really good mood.

The smell of smoke in the air and neon lights on her body distracted her. Everyone was watching them now, as he led her towards a large door at the back of the club. Everyone knew who the Joker was; there was no mistaking for the club-goers. Gotham had a new queen.


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me two weeks and a lot of hard work, but here we go! A very challenging chapter to write but I hope you enjoy this.

**PART IX**

_Done this to death do us apart_  
_Kiss the old me goodbye she's dead and gone_  
_One by one, I watch you fall down_  
_Take no prisoners, search and destroy_  
_Baby look at what you've done_  
_**\- All Hands On Deck, Tinashe** _

* * *

They settled into an unpredictable but satisfying routine as the weeks passed by. The Joker spent most of his time in his clubs, his favorite place for conducting business.

Those nights Harley occupied herself dancing and taunting the other customers while the Joker made trade deals with men he was going to betray. He presented her to his partners with malicious glee , and anyone who assumed that she was anything less than royalty got to pay for that mistake with their life.

The Joker's empire was growing again. The criminals of the underworld were slowly and surely realizing who owned them. A constant tug of war took place about certain areas and turfs, all while the orderly citizens of Gotham went on with their lives, trying not to get caught in the crossfire. The king was back from the loony bin and the mob bosses were fidgeting uneasily in their seats and planning their coups, giving quick glances to the deadly allure dancing in the golden light.

She brought the weakest men to their knees, made them dream about those pale, long legs that occasionally parted, showing the inviting secret between them. Her attention was a death penalty.

Some of them couldn't stop staring when she moved her lithe body, her sugary scent surrounding them and concealing the metallic smell, the way her body thrust against the chain, how her body pressed up against the glass with every move. When she bent down to whisper in someone's ear _Do ya wanna taste this kitty?_ and exhaled slowly, they almost saw stars as they dreamed of her warm smoothness.

She was the executioner, her seductiveness preceding the head-shot, and then she wiped brain substance of her chin as if it was something else and sat down in the lap of her partner. The testosterone in the air aroused her, but when the Joker's most reliable men fell, her endless appetite for destruction annoyed him. Which only pushed her further into the road of absolute high.

The days passed and Harley was caught in a blissful state of euphoria - constantly shadowing J wherever he went, his most prized possession. They existed together in perfect, malevolent harmony, until one night when J got a different kind of business customer.

* * *

It wasn't the first time a woman entered the closed, glass-framed VIP booth where the Joker usually conducted his more private affairs. The other gang lords sometimes brought a girl with them, a new one every time, and those were too busy fawning over them to give the Joker more than a quick glance.

But this woman came alone, shadowed by two suited body guards, and the way she walked showed that she was not there to look pretty on the arm of some mob boss. Long dark hair fell down her back; she smacked her full glossy lips as she entered the booth and waved Frost away as if he was nothing but a bellhop.

Harley was in her glass cage like usual when she noticed the stranger. Her attention was immediately drawn to her, her smile faltering and her eyes narrowing to slits as she saw how the woman sat down with J.

The unfamiliar woman was taller than Harley and had a more muscular build, a confident posture and a glow to her that made the customers' attention drift away from Harley before she disappeared into the room with toned, bullet-proof glass walls.

Harley stared at the booth, expecting the Joker's eyes on her like usual, but now he paid her no attention. He said something to the other woman's body guards with his usual twisted sense of humor, and they looked blankly at him, equally unimpressed. The woman placed one curvy leg over the other and leaned back in her seat, not showing an ounce of intimidation in the face of the clown prince.

Harley could not focus on her dance routine and left the cage. An alarming feeling was growing in her chest. It reminded her vaguely of someone else, a pretty woman with dark hair and strong perfume, a woman with a confident walk.

 _Who does she think she is?_ a voice taunted in the back of her head, another voice growing shrill. _Talking to Mistah J like that… Let's put homegirl in her place._

The thought cheered her up and she moved over to Frost who stood outside of the glass room, looking at the people inside with his usual passive bodyguard stance.

"Who is _she_?" Harley demanded.

"A business partner," Frost replied. "He don't want to be disturbed."

Harley looked through the dark, toned glass, her eyes settling on the the woman. As she talked to the Joker, she leaned closer to him. Not in a seductive way, more as if she was confiding in him, but her well-manicured hand landed on the glass table just a bit too close to him. He didn't pull back, of course, and instead gave her a wide grin that he often used to emphasize a joke.

The sulking feeling in Harley's chest grew stronger, and a memory of leaning over a table, just like that, struck her. She bared her teeth, and she wished she had brought her bat – she wanted to hit something repeatedly, so hard that it cracked. She wanted to hit _her_.

_Mistah J likes your company, huh?  
_

Harley opened the glass door with a little more force than necessary, restraining herself from slamming it into the wall, and sauntered over the plush carpet in an exaggeratedly confident fashion.

"Hi Puddin'," she cooed sweetly, and the other woman looked up at her with an unreadable expression. There was no _worship_ or fear there. She had to learn a lesson.

"Not now, Harls," Joker drawled, tilting his head back slightly. Normally she would withdraw, but she wasn't having it tonight.

A part of her wanted to sulk like a child until he fell for her pouting and spoiled her to make it better again, but the fact that he wasn't welcoming her presence only fueled her anger. Harley abruptly sat down in the Joker's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, all the while staring challenging at the other woman.

He growled quietly at her, not returning her affection. "I said _not now_."

Hurt, confusion and anger bubbled in her chest. Her fake smile dropped, she withdrew her arms and stood up.

_He doesn't want me anymore?_

"Puddin'?"

He waved his hand at her and she knew it was the last warning. "Daddy's _busy_. Go play."

Harley glanced over at the other woman, who watched her as if she was a little child throwing a tantrum. The two body guards in the booth stared at her.

No, she was not having it.

"So this is how it's gonna be?" Harley asked, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. "Ya want her instead, Mistah J?"

The Joker had already disregarded her completely and looked at the woman to continue their conversation. Harley snatched his gun from him before he had time to react and aimed it at the woman across from them.

"Lemme take out the trash for ya," she growled. Both the bodyguards drew their own guns and pointed them at Harley. Frost swiftly entered the booth, sensing the commotion, and suddenly they were all holding each other at gunpoint.

The Joker sighed dramatically, as if he was absolutely _exhausted_ by the drama, and rolled his eyes. If Harley hadn't spent so much time reading his expressions, she wouldn't notice the dangerous anger lingering underneath, but she did. As the only visibly unarmed person in the small booth, J made a show of appearing overly relaxed. He slowly smoothed his hair back and chuckled quietly.

"My, my, Harley is getting a lil _heated_ …"

The other woman sat rigid in her seat, not showing any visible distress despite having a gun only ten inches from her face. Frost moved closer to the Joker to cover him up.

The Joker held out his hands in a relaxed display, but his jaw was set tight. "Now, gentlemen," he said gleefully, speaking to the two bodyguards, "No need getting so _serious_ over this little lover's spat, hmm?"

They didn't move, and Harley's finger danced over the trigger. "Don't worry Puddin', she'll be gone soon enough," she hissed, but a big smile crept onto her face at being in the center of attention again.

The other woman stared straight back at her, masking her emotions carefully, but there was still no _respect_ or fear there.

The Joker sighed again and Harley could feel his patience getting dangerously thin. His eyes were set on the two body guards with the look he used to really stare someone down.

"I would _hate_ " he grimaced, "to ruin the mood over some bodies. _Espe-cially_ in here – poor Jonny _just_ got the blood out of the carpet. Give the guy a break, wouldya?"

Harley giggled.

"I agree," the other woman said, with a deep calm voice. "Put down your weapons," she ordered her bodyguards. Harley was delighted to hear how her voice revealed the tiniest bit of distress at the last word.

Harley didn't move and the bodyguards practically jumped in their seats with stress.

"In a place like this -" the Joker made a theatrical gesture with his hand, emphasizing the unspoken threat -"I want to keep it _funny_. Isn't that right, Harley?""

He put one hand around Harley's waist, drawing her back, and she lowered the gun with a sulking pout. His tense body and the way he said her name made her realize she'd better obey.

He then withdrew his hand and grinned. Suddenly both the guards slumped into their seats as the gunshots rang out. The other woman sat between two lifeless bodies with blood seeping out of their heads, staring at the Joker's smoking reserve gun.

Fear grew in her eyes as the Joker approached her, flaunting his weapon. She quickly stood up as he came closer. They were of equal length and she had a firmer build, but she seemed to almost shrink in front of him.

"Jonny," the Joker spoke to his henchman in a low, smooth tone, "Take care of her little friends out there."

She drew a shaky breath. "We can solve this in another way, J. Let me - "

He leaned closer, giving her a maddening grin, as Frost silently left the room.

"I _hate_ to ruin a good game," he said, and she glared at him, "But you gotta drill your boys better. With brains like that, they're just asking to get a bullet in it, ya know." He gave her a conspiratorial wink and her face distorted.

She glanced over at Harley, who stood by the wall watching with a smile, and then back at the Joker. He placed the gun at the woman's throat.

"Time for us to repay the favor. You can choose," he told with a dark grin, "Or I'll do it for you."

They watched as the trembling woman took a hold of the gun. Her eyelids fluttered, and with Harley keeping the other gun aimed at her forehead, she whispered a prayer and pulled the trigger.

Harley laughed as the Joker turned against her. Her head hit the back of the wall a moment later, hard enough to knock the wind out of her. The force of his knuckles burned on her cheekbone.

He put both his guns back into his holster and yanked her out of the booth, anger blazing in his eyes. He kept a hard grip on her arm and she was disoriented from the hit, but he didn't slow down.

"What are ya doin'?"

"We're leaving," he told her sternly.

"It ain't my fault you killed her entire staff body," she complained as they heard the gunshots from outside the club and approaching sirens. "She was all over ya!"

He growled at her. " _Not another word_."

He brought her to the car and then let her go abruptly. They rode in silence; he was clenching the wheel hard and grinding his teeth, and she folded her arms in front of her chest, still pissed about the attention he had showed the woman but also a bit satisfied by how it turned out.

After they pulled into the underground parking garage he left without waiting for her and headed up the stairs that lead to the penthouse. When they reached the top floor, he went into the large room where he kept his collections of knives and rifles and slammed the door so hard that wooden chips rained down on the carpet.

Harley was pissed. The night was far from over and their combined date and business night was ruined. She didn't want to sit around all night, especially if J was going to ignore her.

She tore the door to his private room open despite knowing that she wasn't supposed to be there, and marched straight in.

"I wasn't finished talkin' to you!"

He gripped one of his knives tightly, twisting his neck as he exhaled through his nose, but said nothing.

"If you think I'm gonna stand there and wait while you hang out with some tramp, forget it! Forget it, Mistah J!"

"This is on _you_ ," he growled. The knife suddenly embedded in the wall five inches left of her head, but she knew he wouldn't miss if he really wanted to. He turned around and walked over to her.

"You cost me a lot of reliable men and money," he snarled. "You interrupted a business deal _again_. What did I _tell_ you about disobeying me, Harley?" He took another step and suddenly he was standing in front of her.

"I wasn't the one killin' them," she retorted. "Can't be easy to work for ya!"

His fist slammed into the wall next to her head but she didn't flinch. His eyes blazed. "Why don't you go away then?" he spat. "Run, run, little doctor."

She bit back the pain his words caused, the violent tear in her chest. "Yeah, what if I did!"

"Where are you gonna go, hmm?" He smiled without any trace of humor. "I made you."

"What about _you_ , huh? Ya get cross with me for wantin' to kill a bitch who's touching you all over?"

" _Me_?" His tone was dangerously light. "Do _I_ belong to someone?" He cackled as if it was the funniest idea he had ever heard, then he stared her down. "Haven't we already been over this? You live for me. You die for me."

She could hardly keep her voice steady. "You told me to drop everyone."

"You should have been a good little girl like Harleen and done what I told you," he snarled.

"You miss Harleen?" Harley breathed. "Bad news for ya, she's dead and gone."

"She was a pain in the ass." He rolled his eyes and grimaced. "Just like you."

"Yeah? Aren't we the same, you and I, _Puddin'_?" She uttered the word without an ounce of affection, for the first time, growling out the word through her teeth.

He gave her a look that would have sent Harleen to the floor. "Maybe," he breathed heavily, "I should kill you too. That should shut _her_ up."

There was no going back, she knew. Yet she almost felt like Harleen again, a twisted version herself, suddenly enraged. The hurt and confusion caused her mind to collapse onto itself; piece by piece it all turned into a maelstrom of thoughts she couldn't hold back.

 _Oh Harley_ , a voice taunted her in her mind, _your father would roll in his grave if he saw what you became._

"Ya should have kept Harleen!" she screamed. Angry tears stung in her eyes and she pushed him back as hard as he could. "Or make yaself some new, _prettier_ girl!"

He laughed.

Harley struck him hard across the face, and the force was enough to turn his head to the side. The realization that she actually hurt him came a second later and was crumbling. A part of her was terrified, taken aback, already retreating in shame, but the anger finally won.

He grinned at her now, a wide smile that was just as threatening as it was deranged, beautiful in its entirety. "You can try to _run_ all you want, Haaaarley, but you can't escape what you _are_. It's etched into your pretty little head. You will always come back, because you're just as bad as me." He cackled.

His words mentally brought her off track for a moment and she stared him, heart pounding with pride from the recognition. But she should have known. He hit her right back, square across the face so hard that a metallic taste filled her mouth. A moment later he slammed her entire body against the wall, holding her there and gripping both of her forearms tightly.

He was still grinning, but she recognized the look in his eyes, the absolute rage and madness. Harley spat the blood out of her mouth and some of it landed on his cheek.

"You've crossed the line," he breathed through gritted teeth and the grip on her arms tightened painfully, cutting off her blood flow, but she barely noticed. "You've tested me for the last time, little girl."

Half distracted by his body, his arched neck, she stared at him with pounding heart and angry tears stinging in her eyes. She had not lost her analytical skill, the psychiatrist side of her that could read and analyze him, and she realized that he was restraining himself from killing her right there and then. 

That analytical part of her also fruitlessly tried to warn her about the danger she was in, but she had gleefully shut that side off long ago. Their bodies were only inches from each other and the arousal stirred in her as she felt his heavy breathing on her face. The anger always became secondary to his very presence, her resolve weakened.

Harley struggled to get her arms out of his grip, but he didn't relent, so she leaned forward as far as she could reach and crushed their lips together. He bit down on her lip aggressively, his body immediately reacting to hers. She could practically feel his resistance, his temper and his body fighting each other and she prolonged the violent kiss as he broke her lip and the blood flowed.

He growled into her mouth as one of his hands grasped her hair and pulled it hard. She pressed her body closer as his metal teeth assaulted her skin, his tongue exploring every part of her mouth.

The pain set off delicious responses and made every part of her body stir, and she knew as she finally got a hold of his upper lip and crushed it between her teeth, that every moment turned him on too.

He ended up squishing her against the wall and she pressed her body into his, moaning and losing herself into the feeling. He suddenly pulled back from her, growling, and detached their bodies. They both had blood running down their chins, smeared with lipstick and saliva.

"What now, Doctor?" he hissed at her. "Did your little brain tell you to _analyze_ me an' butter me up? Are you going to prescribe something to _cure_ me too?" he taunted.

"I ain't a doctor!" she screamed and pushed him off violently. "I'm not, I'M NOT!"

"Are your _impulses_ coming back, hmm?"

"Screw you, Mistah J!"

Harley stormed out of the room, grabbing a thick butcher's knife on the way and throwing it at the nearest wall, leaving a large hole. She heard his voice from behind.

"Run, Harley," he cackled, loudly, in slow breathless sounds. He grasped his favorite gun, spun it around in his hands, a mad light in his eyes. "Run away before I change my mind."

The tears overflowed as she ran down the stairs, away from him, but she still heard him, his drawn-out cackles that sounded more like a wolf howling.

 

* * *

  
  
She didn't know where to go.

She couldn't go back to her old apartment, and even the thought was distasteful. She wouldn't recognize it, and she was sure the police must have shut it off after her 'sudden disappearance'. She couldn't risk being caught by the crime investigators either for that matter. J's clubs were like a second home for her, but she wanted to stay away from all that could remind her.

She walked down the street in the night. The hurt was blooming in her chest, a growing ache that made it impossible to focus. Her sight blurred, her head throbbed and her mouth still bled freshly.

_He's mad at me._

_I disappointed him._

He had expressed his displeasure with her before, but this was the first time they ever fought like this. She couldn't forget how he had leaned towards to that woman and among the jealousy and rage, there was something else that bit into her.

_You know I live for these moments with you._

What if he had grown tired of her? Harley's face distorted and the mascara burned her eyes, but she literally couldn't care less if the entire Gotham saw her.

With the same ferocity as Harleen had, she knew that she was not letting him go. He would have to kill her first.

Her burning anger and distress slowly faded to a more dull kind of discomfort as she passed through the streets. She felt like Harleen again, aimlessly wandering the streets at night a fruitless attempt to find solace for her breaking heart.

The voices were unruly and refused to tone down; they argued endlessly and even though she stopped listening to them out of habit, some of their words still managed to slip through.

_What's the point in running? He warned you about him and you accepted him._

Maybe, if Harleen had been strong enough to withstand the absolute desire in her heart, things would have been different. But Harleen had felt the greatest passion of her life; Harleen had felt so alive and so awakened and so she had dived right in without a care in the world. She couldn't help but smile as she remembered how it felt, how he lightened her up and made her feel so divine. She had found the meaning to her life, the answer to all her wishes and hopes, in a cell at Arkham.

When her tears ran, it was not out of anger anymore.

She didn't know how much time passed. Eventually, her blurry eyes focused on a red neon sign on the other side of the street, a symbol of a playing card that caught her attention. She walked over without thinking and saw that it was a tattoo parlor.

The woman who worked there showed no surprise at the sight of Harley walking in, shivering miserably, all dressed up, with bruised and broken lips, smeared makeup and purple fingerprints blossoming on her arms. Maybe she recognized her from the clubs, or she simply was very professional. Harley temporarily forgot her distress as she took in the walls and floors that were covered with ornate drawings, colorful animals and green plants and graffiti words, planets and stars.

"This is cool," she hiccuped, wide-eyed.

"You can wash yourself off over there, honey," the woman offered and nodded at a small sink at the back of the empty main room. Harley peeled the dried blood off her chin as she looked at herself in the cracked mirror.

_I'm just like you._

"I want a tattoo," she told the woman when she had washed most of the blood off and applied new red lipstick – along with the knife J had given her, she kept a small pouch strapped to her body underneath her dress with a few necessary things.

She had never used the black, shiny credit card before, as she mostly took whatever she wanted and no shop clerk had lived long enough to oppose that, but she had got one anyway. She held back the violent flood of emotion that thinking of _him_ brought and grimaced.

She wanted to run back to him, throw herself into his arms and be assured that she was still his, but she had got herself in deep trouble now. She would lick her wounds and retreat. She was not going to come home until he showed that he wanted her back.

.

Harley fingered her cheek as she left the tattoo parlor later, feeling the pleasant sting spreading across her face. She would show him, she would show the world.

_I'm rotten through and through._

* * *

  
Jonny Frost had seen his boss in many different states: happy and eager to reclaim his sandbox and his empire, frustrated when someone didn't die fast enough, cold and focused when he knew what he wanted. He had even seen him in a state that was far more terrifying than his worst killing glee, something that had emerged fully when that crazy female joined them.

He had seen it the first time back at Arkham, in the boss' eyes when Frost put his gun to the doctor's head to finish her off, that smile that was more terrifying than anything he had ever encountered and immediately made him withdraw his weapon.

But he had never seen him like this.

Frost didn't think anyone could survive defying his boss. No one was stupid enough to even _consider_ standing up to him, so that woman must be exceptionally dumb.

After Quinn stormed out, miraculously alive, Frost waited up the remaining hours of the night for any orders, but his boss didn't make a sound. The Joker went out in the morning hours, cradling his gun, itching for death and destruction. He returned late the following night, tossed his bloody purple coat to Frost to clean up, then disappeared up to the top floor.

Frost had become used to the inseparable couple's antics in the past weeks, both the pounding on the wall, the explosions and the blood, glitter and grey matter on the floor, so he wasn't particularly concerned at first. He was busy giving orders to the rest of the crew when a roar sounded from above.

Harley Quinn had not returned.


	10. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley goes playing a little game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I want to thank everyone for your amazing reviews and all the support I've received with this story, it truly makes my day to read your comments. We're approaching the end of this story, but we've got some nice things coming up first, including a surprise. Graphic and mature content follows. Behold, the grand finale!

* * *

**PART X**

_I'm so hot, I ignite,_  
 _Dancing in the dark and I shine._  
 _Like a light I'm luring you._  
 _Baby, I'm a sociopath, sweet serial killer_  
 _You know I love the thrill of the rush_  
**\- Serial Killer, Lana Del Rey**

* * *

 

 

He didn't know they would come back so quickly.

He had almost forgotten the reason why he didn't sleep, why he put it off until he simply collapsed from exhaustion and there was no time to _think_ , why he had functioned differently in another lifetime where actual sleep was not necessary. He had almost forgotten why he used to always be awake, always alert, always ready to push _them_ back.

Lately sleep had become something tolerable, because _they_ were kept at bay. They remained vague shadows in the back of his mind, not threatening enough, and he could laugh in their faces and defy them. They grew powerless and pathetic, until suddenly there was nothing to hold them back anymore. They had crept closer, ready to strike, and they slipped through the buzzing in his head.

And it was all - he grit his teeth - _her_ fault.

That insufferable girl.

He had gone 49 hours without sleep and she still had not returned. The Joker didn't think he would itch for something so pathetic as rest, but as the shadows crept closer and spun wildly in his head, it was a constant flashing, a sound he couldn't mute, it was harder to focus. He let out a low, annoyed growl but still made no move to rise from the bed he was lying on.

As insane as it was, he had enjoyed her presence more than her absence, and that was disgusting in its own right. He could lie to everyone else, in fact lying to _her_ was an enjoyable pastime, but Joker did not lie to himself. He enjoyed that malicious glint in her eyes that always made him want to take her harder, to choke her just to see her drop her pretenses and moan deeply into his mouth. When her true, delirious self emerged, he never could keep his hands off her.

He enjoyed her childish wonder after a particularly rough session, when she giggled like a little girl and licked blood of her red lips, her warm body against his when she chased the insomnia away and made _them_ retreat again. He enjoyed to see the last remains of his little doctor washed away and the corroded persona that appeared in her place, her full potential finally unlocked. She was _his_ , tainted and twisted.

Sometimes he wanted to shut her up for good, but at the end of the day, no matter how frustrated she had made him with her games and schemes and whining and _endless_ pouting, he needed to feel her fingers threading through his hair and ease him to sleep. Even though her behavior drove him insane, hey, at least more than before, he wanted to hear the sound of his name coming from her breathy whispers as he left teeth marks between her legs.

He wanted to feel her scratching his back bloody with raw, delicious pain when he pounded into her, and see her give him her most devilish little smile, asking for pain, willing to please. Even though some days he just preferred her sleeping just because he could finally hear himself _think_ for once. Every time she opened her mouth someone died - not that he was complaining.

He chuckled to himself. It had been _so easy_ to make her fall head over heels, like stealing candy from a kid. A few appreciative words and her face was flushing, she was wide open, easy to influence, easy to control. But the doctor, who stroked his hair after the electroshock therapy and made them give him a metal grill instead of his crushed teeth, she was more than that.

She was the creepiest, craziest creature he had ever encountered, and it drove him absolutely mad.

 _Mine, mine, mine_ , the mantra running through his head every time she was near, when he branded her from the inside with himself.

The first night without her he had pushed _them_ back and waited, and it felt like he was back in his cell waiting for the good doctor to come to work in the morning. The thought made his blood boil - heaven help her if she was out there, dancing for others while he was _here_. A part of him knew he should have killed her from the beginning, and she never would have caused him this much trouble. Where his past had been, the memories that he had lost, she had replaced everything with herself and ensnared him in a way that no one was allowed to.

She had left her phone at home. Growling to himself, the Joker finally heaved himself up from the bed and strapped his holster in place.

He had to find Harley.

 

* * *

  
  
Harley brought the glass to her lips and swallowed the content in one go, feeling the alcohol burn her throat all the way down. She picked the olive up from the martini glass with the plastic stick and ignored the stares from the men around her as she leaned over the counter and ordered another drink. She had decided to reply "Surprise me" every time they asked what she wanted, and after a while they had started giving her stronger drinks.

The dim, red light in the club felt comfortable to her throbbing head. She was not aware of her surroundings, focusing on her drink with both hands, and her mind tuned out the low conversations and laughter around her.

This club did not belong to Mr. J, and it was located in the very opposite part of Gotham - The Red Lantern was a VIP place with closed entrance, but by flirting with the entrance guard and beating another girl unconscious and stealing her pass, the exclusive VIP club had opened up before her. Harley sullenly pulled the olive off the stick with her teeth and closed her eyes, feeling the throbbing bass music seep into her bones.

This was her first time being out alone, save for a few times back at university, but she did not feel inclined to party - _he_ wasn't there. She didn't know what had triggered his temper enough, what, killing a bitch? The thought of him made her chest ache and she pushed it away by squeezing her eyes together tighter, in turn increasing the throbbing headache. She downed her drink to keep the migraine at bay, then ordered another one, when a soft hand suddenly touched her shoulder.

Harley turned around in her seat and saw a woman standing next to her, close in the crowded bar area. She focused her blurry sight and the first thing she noticed was the thick, red hair falling down the woman's shoulders. She wore a short, revealing dress that complimented her piercing green eyes. The dark red walls and lamps in the club made her hair seem to glow.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you." Her voice was deeper than Harley expected, yet feminine. She sounded much older than Harley despite her youthful appearance. She looked at the drink and Harley glanced at it as if it was the first time she saw it; she honestly couldn't remember where it came from.

Harley sluggishly winked at the woman and pushed the glass away. "Like whatya see?"

"No," the red-head answered bluntly and Harley glared, offended, but she continued calmly: "Those drugs are too weak to do any damage to the nerval system, but you seem like the type to fall for anything."

Harley let out an uncontrollable giggle. "Thanks, _mom_. Ya don't think I can handle myself?"

"You've already dosed yourself with rohypnol, honey," the woman remarked and inspected a red, sharp nail on her finger.

"Ryhop-what?" Harley fell over giggling intensely. She remembered that name from somewhere, but it was getting harder to focus.

"Why don't you ask him over there?" The red-head nodded at something and Harley noticed the man sitting in a booth a few feet away, watching her intensely. He quickly turned his face away when Harley looked up, but it was too late.

Harley abruptly rose to her feet, almost overturning her chair, and the woman grabbed her arm. Discreetly, she slipped Harley a small, green pill. "Take this and be _quiet,_ or I'll inform the guards about your forced entry."

"What's that for? I don' wanna trip." Harley shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her chest defiantly. She had already started seeing the strangest figures in the edge of her vision, rabbits and caterpillars and colorful animals. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to embrace something higher, after all. She snatched the pill out of the woman's hand and chewed it quickly before swallowing, then grimaced at the taste.

"Ew! What is this shit?"

The red-head gave her a dismissive glance. "You're not very bright, are you? Antidote, works on all kind of _lower class_ drugs. Don't cause too much trouble now," she said quietly her deep voice.

Harley grinned. "Trouble is what I _am_."

She moved over to the man who had been watching her, gracefully slipping between the warm bodies. He apparently was the reason for her unsteadiness, and she was going to find out why. He sat on a plush couch, sheltered from the surroundings. He was objectively good-looking, with dark hair slicked back and wearing a fancy golden watch to his expensive suit jacket.

Harley's grin grew wider.

She plopped down in the seat next to him and leaned close, batting her eyelashes and inhaling his expensive eau de cologne. He watched her with a look she recognized well; it gave her the complete answer on how to approach him.

"Thanks for buying me a drink," Harley whispered in his ear, smiling sweetly. His hand touched her bare knee and slowly moved upward towards her thigh. She held back the urge to stab his eyes out with the plastic drink stick she still had in her hand.

"Anytime, gorgeous," he smiled warmly at her.

She knew that she was looking her very best - a quick store robbery earlier today, and she got a complete fresh outfit and make up. She had settled for a deep purple satin cocktail dress with a slit down the middle that showed off her skin in all the right places and ended just above her thigh. She had kept her hair down and complemented her outfit with some jewels she picked up from another store on the way here. The perfect outfit for heading into battle, completed with her sharpest war paint - blood red lipstick and strong eyeshadow.

"Would you do anything for me?" Her lips almost touched the shell of his ear when she leaned close.

"Yeah, baby. Are you here alone? I haven't seen you around before." He looked deep into her eyes, no doubt for a sign of drowsiness or dilated pupils, and Harley moved closer until she was almost sitting in his lap. She let her hands move up his shoulder the way she used to do with J, even though the very idea of doing this to someone else without J being in on the game was repulsing. The man's breathing seemed to get stuck in his throat for a moment.

"I'm all alone," Harley pouted and faked a little sob, "I've been here all night."

"I'm here now," he smiled.

She quickly checked the surroundings - no one was paying them attention, especially as the place was filled with strippers giving the men lap dances.

"Goodie." Harley smiled and then embedded J's knife in the inside of the man's upper thigh. It sliced through his expensive suit pants and straight into the big vein, like cutting through butter, and stained the entire seat with blood. She quickly put her hand over his mouth to silence his shout as she leaned in closer and pulled on his tie, putting on a playful act of seduction. "Shhh..."

He was left panting and gasping underneath her hand and she pulled the tie hard enough to almost choke him. She sat on top of him, covering the act, as she put her lips right by his ear. "Who do you work for?"

"I swear -"

"Spit it." She pulled the tie tighter.

"R-r-roman!" he spluttered, panicking. "He- he said you'd be here!"

"Leave Falcone a message from me, alright?" Harley blew him a kiss, then twisted the knife and ripped it out. She pushed him down on the floor so he was hidden underneath the table and jumped up, fixing her dress in place over her push-up bra and strapping her knife in place underneath.

She was still a bit unsteady on her feet, a dull ache in her head, but it was easier to focus her gaze - maybe that pill was working after all. The red-haired woman from before was leaning against a nearby wall, watching Harley with one of her eyebrows raised.

"He doesn't have much time left," she remarked casually when Harley skipped over to her. Harley held out her hand with a wide smile. "Nice to meetcha. I'm Harley Quinn."

The woman pushed off the wall with a dead-pan expression. " _That_ Harley Quinn?"

She giggled. "The one and only."

The woman examined one of her nails as if she had nothing better to do, then looked up. "I've heard of you, alright," she said without any trace of the admiration Harley had expected. But she could forgive her the lack of respect now - she would see eventually.  
"I'm Pam," she added as an afterthought. She swept with her gaze over the place as if she was looking for something.

"I like your style," Harley commented, "and your hair! It's so... _red!_ " She reached out to touch it, but Pam backed off with an irritated expression. "Don't touch me."

"Aw, come on, Red!"

"Don't call me that," Pam cut off and turned away. She walked elegantly in a way that not even Harley could match. Harley giggled and followed her through the club, impatiently pushing people out of the way. "Hey, wait!"

She was so busy keeping track of the slick green movement that she didn't notice how people stared when she passed by, and the uneasy whispering that spread through the crowd, almost covered by the music. If she had paid more attention, she would also have noticed the man in the black suit following her movements from afar.

Harley eventually caught up to her and grabbed her arm. "Are you afraid of commitment?" she teased. "Do you usually stand around watching girls without paying the bill?"

The woman turned around and stared her down, anger flashing in her green eyes - it reminded her of Mr. J, that look that told her to just shut up before she got hurt - but the Joker's stare was much more intimidating and terrifying than Pam's could ever be.

Almost as if she read her thoughts, Pam looked over her shoulder. "Where is your clown?" she asked coldly.

Harley's smile faltered a bit. The ache in her chest returned with full force, almost making her knees give in and her pulse rush, but she couldn't find her voice. The thought of returning home had hit her several times, but she couldn't do it until she knew that he wanted her back.

"Oh, forget it." The red-haired woman slipped through the crowd before Harley had time to catch up on her, disappearing like a shadow.

"Red!"

Harley was alone again, and it was harder to keep herself focused. Now when the thought of J had slipped through the walls she had put up around her mind, she couldn't keep it gone. She missed him more than she thought she could, after only two days apart - and no distraction had been more than momentarily; he always stayed on the forefront of her brain. In the edge of her vision, she ever so often saw something that made her react - a streak of purple or green, but he wasn't there.

Without him by her side she felt terribly empty, drained... lost.

She looked around for something, anything to keep the agony at bay and noticed the space in the middle of the room. This club had a stage, with red and golden tiled bricks on the walls and floors and several golden poles in the middle. Red, heavy velvet drapes were attached to the ceiling, covering it completely. There was no glass cage, so the dancers were much closer to the audience.

Harley jumped up on the stage and this time stopped to notice all the pair of eyes settling on her. She smiled and waved at them, then motioned for the current pole dancer to get off. As if this had been J's club, the woman seemed strangely eager to get out of her way.

Soon Harley was dancing again, the familiarity soothing her. She could push the ache away, becoming one with the movement. She found it was easier to keep her balance when there was no need to remain steady in one place - she was constantly moving and she instinctively fell into the same old rhythm.

She pressed her back against the pole in the middle of the stage and swung her hips from side to side, just as an explosion went off in the back of the club. It was immediately followed by screams and the sounds of gunshots and several guards rushed over.   
  
The crowd started moving around uneasily, voices raised and another gunshot went off. She spotted a familiar figure in a black suit and more men in morbid costumes. They spread out along the walls and cornered the scared club-goers, blocking the exits. Everyone's heads turned against one spot, and the crowd clumsily split.

Harley stood on the stage, waiting.

And there he was, sauntering towards her - he took his time, like always, and a shiver ran through her spine. He wore his purple alligator coat with an open shirt underneath and black slacks, accompanied by his cane.

His dark and hollow gaze found her, boring into her so hard she couldn't look away.

Harley pressed herself to the pole, slowly sinking down to her knees. "Puddin'," she called with a sugar-sweet voice and tilted her head to the side, smiling wickedly.

She saw the crazed grin on his face as he came closer."Playin' without me, baby?"

She barely noticed the terrified glances of the rest of the club-goers, caught between the Joker's men, who all kept their assault rifles at ready. All she saw was him, and warmth flooded her chest.

"All by myself," she replied and winked at him, arching her body as he stopped right in front of the stage. Seeing him like that was almost enough to make her want to throw herself into his arms.

"Come to daddy," he purred, his gaze dark.

Harley hoisted one bare leg around the pole and climbed up, blowing him a kiss. "Come and get me, Puddin'."

She saw the triumphant smile on his face switch to one of pure rage as she jumped up to the ceiling a moment later, grabbing one of the heavy drapes and using it as a trapeze to swing herself through the room. She let go of it when she was above the crowd and landed far off the stage, crouched among a mass of confused people.

In the chaos that followed it was easy to disappear out of sight. More gunshots erupted, the people around her screamed and pushed each other, unable to get out. She used the drapes along the walls to her advantage, sometimes climbing the walls. The lights were dim and the club was filled with private booths, perfect hiding spots. She saw bodies falling around her, men and women collapsing on the ground. Harley crouched, thoroughly excited, and navigated her way through the screaming club-goers. Every time she saw J, who simply shot anyone that didn't look like her, she changed course.

As she crouched underneath a table, someone grabbed a hold of her. Harley aimed a punch but was thrown off, and found herself staring into the face of a familiar woman.

Red glared at her. "Doesn't that deranged clown have something else to terrorize? This is my third job in a month and I'd like to keep it."

"He's here for me," Harley announced, overjoyed. "Tell me how to get outta this place."

"I hope you're kidding." Red glared at her. "If you leave, he's gonna blow this place sky high."

Harley giggled. "Come on! He'll do it anyway."

"No!"

Harley sighed dramatically. "I just wanna play a little, don't be so _boring_!"

"Do you call this play?" Red hissed as another hail of bullets rained down over the room. A woman screamed and a body hit the table above them with a dull thud. "Follow me - I'll tell him where you go," Red warned and dragged Harley with her out from underneath the table. She pushed them both behind a heavy red curtain, that revealed a door instead of solid wall.

Red opened the small door with a key and quickly pushed Harley inside, closing the door tightly after them. They walked through a small, dark and moist tunnel as the sound of an explosion shook the building again. They had to walk crouched as the ceiling was so low, and the ground was patched and uneven. Harley giggled constantly as Pam led the way. She sighed, thoroughly annoyed.

"If I let that guy drug you, you'd be sleeping when the clown came to pick you up," she grumbled. "Less trouble for everyone involved."

"Then you'd lose your job," Harley taunted. "And Mistah J would kill you." She smiled, before she remembered something. "That Falcone guy is after him," she growled.

She could almost hear Red roll her eyes. "Who isn't? Have you any idea what he has done to his town? What he has done to the plants, the _living_ things around here?"

Harley shrugged.

Red ground her teeth together. "I forgot, he _owns_ you."

She didn't see it coming; suddenly Harley slammed her against the concrete wall, causing them both to almost fall over in the small, dark space. Their bodies were so close she could feel the strong flowery scent of the other woman.

"He doesn't _own_ me!" Harley exploded, her voice creating a messy echo. She held Red's arms in a tight grip, returning her vicious glare. "I'm here because I _want_ to be. He's _mine_ , and I _ain't_ some sidekick!"

Red yanked herself free from her grip just as Harley was about to punch her in the face. She withdrew and said nothing more, just giving Harley a sour look.

The entire building suddenly shook, causing stone and gravel to rain down over them. Harley giggled in anticipation. "You ever played hide and seek?"

The tunnel lead to the street and they both ended up outside a secret passage that could only be opened from one side, on the corner from the club. Pam refused to be involved any further and withdrew, which probably was a smart move considering that the Joker's men had abandoned the club and instead flooded the street. They shot wildly in all directions to keep the streets empty and Harley kept herself out of shooting range just behind the corner.

The street outside the Red Lantern was a mess, crowded with cars and mauled bodies, but Harley did not stop to take it in as she ran. She rounded the street, knowing he must have noticed her absence by now. The thrill of the chase made her heart rush, she felt complete again, the world was aligned in perfection with her. Mr. J was looking for her.

And what could be better than letting him hunt her down? Her lower stomach clenched in anticipation. She also knew that this was his way of claiming new territory - when he wanted a building for himself, he either blew it up or simply killed everyone inside. The Red Lantern was going to be her new favorite club.

She had only passed two blocks when she heard the roar of a familiar engine. Harley stopped and turned, as large purple car suddenly came in from the left and stopped right in front of her, blocking her way.

The Joker left the car, in his usual casual manner, and closed in on her. Her heart felt like it was going to burst at the sight of him. Their argument had withered away in the days they spent apart and her longing for him overtook everything else. She couldn't even remember what they had been arguing about.

He grinned at her, pulled up his lip and flashed his teeth in that certain way she loved. "Tag."

Harley knew she was cornered from all sides, she knew that he would chase her again if she made a run for it, she knew all this and yet she knew playtime was over. She was happy to give in as the tiredness of the chase, the sleeplessness and the lingering effects of whatever she drank earlier took over. She had been on high on adrenaline for a while and she could feel it in every part of her body.

The voices in her head babbled excitedly, she felt raw and pure desire flooding her veins, her head felt soothed by his very presence. Her insides clenched up with anticipation.

She threw herself at him with more force than he expected, both their bodies tumbling into the side of the car as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. His mouth found hers before she had time to breathe, and his strong arms encircled her and pressed her hard to his chest. She kissed him with all her might, devouring him in the same way he did to her, and opened her mouth to let his warm tongue in, to explore every part of her mouth.

The kiss was deeper, more indulgent than she could remember, and both of them pressed hard into each other. When he gave her a moment to breathe she deeply inhaled the scent of him, the smell of blood and gunpowder and something slightly chemical that enveloped her like a sweet haze. Her legs grew weak as he pressed their hips together.

She let her hands move up to his hair, pushing his head closer and raking her nails through his green tresses, hearing him groan deeply in return. He nibbled at her lip, the half-healed wound from last time, but with less aggressiveness - this time he kissed her softly, as if she was still Harleen. The thought made her giggle, the strange, unfamiliar gentleness from this man, who always kissed her roughly and fucked her hard. She felt his lips split in a grin against her mouth, smile against smile.

Still pressing her into him, he growled into her ear and she whined, her eager hands already tearing at the fabric of his clothes, as she felt the warm moistness pooling in her panties. She didn't think it was possible to physically ache for someone this much, to want to claw his skin away and climb into him, it was impossible to ever get close enough.

He pulled her into the car impatiently, temporarily breaking her out of her haze. She would be happy with him taking her against the wall in the alley or anywhere, but he apparently had other plans and she wasn't going to object. She smiled as they drove past the front of the nightclub, leaving a full crime scene behind. The place was flooded with police cars and she realized why he had wanted to pick her up - none of them would be happy if the GCPD interrupted their reconciliation.

Suddenly she remembered something. "Tell them not to kill Pam," Harley yawned. "She's got red, fluffy hair -" Her eyelids grew heavy.

She thought she only blinked a few times, but suddenly the car had stopped and it was silent around her. She turned her head drowsily, and saw J sitting in the driver's seat.

"Wakey, wakey," he purred. Harley got out of the car, her head slow and dull, and before she could take another step he moved one arm underneath her legs and hoisted her up in his arms.

The car drive had made her drowsy, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and settled her head on his shoulder with a content sigh, breathing deeply of his smell as he carried her upstairs to their penthouse. She felt his chest shake with laughter as she almost fell asleep, and then his arms disappeared underneath her. Harley gave a yelp of surprise, and a second later she landed on a soft surface.

She was back on their bed, but the sight of him in front of her was enough to keep her awake. He discarded his purple coat and she crawled over the bed towards him.

"Missed me, Puddin'?" She flashed him her most devilish smile and reached for him but he wagged his finger at her warningly.

"Playtime's _over_ , Harley. Gotham has no more clubs, I wonder why?"

Harley settled on her knees, pouting. "Come on, Mistah J." She rubbed her thighs together.

He glared at her, and she realized he had not forgiven her for whatever she had done since their fight.

_Let's show him what he's been missing._

Impatient, Harley flipped back onto the bed, pulling her dress up above her hips and revealing the lace tong she wore underneath. She spread her legs and bent them at the knees, smiling at the way his eyes traced her curves, landing on her center.

She let both of her hands follow the inside of her spread thighs, fingers slipping beneath her golden tong and dipping into her warmth. The warm slippery wetness enveloped her finger and she sighed deeply and curved it against her inner channel.

His eyes flashed.

Her smile grew, toothy and predatory, as she beckoned him closer with a finger still inside of herself, then threw her head back.

"I guess I'll have to play by myself..." Harley whined and gave a little yelp as a sudden weight on the bed made her bounce slightly.  
He wore nothing aside from his black slacks, and her eyes immediately focused on his pale, sculpted chest and arms as he towered over her. His eyes darkened and he growled as she let her hand retreat from herself, showcasing the dripping finger.

She giggled and the frustration flashed over his face. A moment later he had both her hands above her head and he lowered himself between her legs, pinning her down with his hips. She could feel his warm hardness straining through the fabric and thrust her hips against him.

He grasped her chin tightly as he kept her in place with his body, and her legs automatically locked around his lower back. Like a carnivorous plant, she got him in her grip, ready to swallow him whole.

He was breathing deeply through his teeth and she felt the promise of pain in his rigid body. His gaze pierced her, capturing her completely and the heat between her legs was unbearable. She needed him inside so badly it was painful.

"Pretty pretty please?" she breathed.

His eyes gleamed, his breathing got heavier, and then he ripped her dress apart with one sudden move. It opened in the front where the slit was, and her bra was revealed to him. Growling in frustration, he picked up one of the knives he always had lying around and used it to sever her bra, then trailed the blade down to her crotch and let it slide through the fabric of her soaked panties.

The sensation of the cold steel against her most sensitive parts sent thousands of electrifying sparks across her skin, making her writhe and tremble beneath him. Harley tore the remains of her underwear off herself and threw it on the floor, spreading herself for him in all her glory.

He placed himself on top of her, stretching out with a lazy grin. She realized this was her punishment for running away, for defying him. Yet, his hard need was evident through the fabric of his pants, teasing her soaked folds to madness.

"Had fun on your little trip?" he growled into her hear and her breathing hitched.

"Nothing's fun without you," Harley whined and searched for his mouth with her lips, but he lifted his head a little and turned her head to the side. She heard him chuckle lowly as he inspected the new tattoo on her cheek.

"Someone else did this?"

His cold fingertips brushed over her skin and she shivered in hot anticipation.

"It's a surprise for ya, Puddin'!"

His mad grin told her that he appreciated his gift. He lowered his head and her heart almost stopped as she felt his mouth encircle one of her breasts, catching the sensitive nipple between his teeth and flicking his tongue before biting.

She arched her back up into him, moaning, just as he left a teeth print all around her areola. The delicious pain set fire to her nerve endings, going straight down to her groin. Her hands ended up where they always went, grasping his hair tightly. He purred as he moved his mouth to her other breast and repeated the same process, marking her. His hands encircled her waist and held her completely still, his grip too tight to be comfortable.

She bucked her hips into his, throwing her head back and moaning out loud. "Please, Puddin'..."

He moved his mouth up to her throat, purring as if he was about to tear her throat out, and Harley's hands tightened in his hair. His free hand moved down to her moist folds, spreading them, and his fingers found her clit, abruptly pressing it and making her legs tremble violently.

As his teeth grazed her pulse point and found the right place to leave a soaring bruise for everyone to see, she moved her hands down and abruptly slammed her nails into his shoulders, clawing desperately at him. As she felt the skin break beneath her nails he groaned out loud and suddenly withdrew from her, pushing her back onto the bed with force.

Her world was a blur, she was not aware of him stripping until she suddenly felt his bare hardness poking at her entrance, and him hovering above her. He thrust into her without warning and her nails drew blood. It tore deliciously at her insides, tearing pain mixed with overwhelming euphoria of _finally_ quenching the thirst inside. She felt fuller than ever before, stretched more than she knew she could as his hard member stabbed into her.

He was ruthless, pressing her down into the bed and she rocked together with him. He pounded her hard enough to hurt, growling and panting in her ear, and all thoughts of being in control faded and dissolved - she was suddenly rendered helpless, all her thoughts focused on the place where he pushed into her.

Her legs locked around his waist with raw force, but that didn't slow him down as he pounded her into the mattress. She gasped with every movement, her hands moving up and eventually managing to get a grip around his head so she could draw him closer.

His lips found hers and he stole her breath away, literally, shoving his tongue into her mouth the same way he did with his body, completely filling her up with him.

As he thrust into her she felt every part of her that had not previously been tied to him change, until she was absolutely sure they were one being, two pieces of a whole that had been separated and then roughly put together again. Her mind focused into one, white-blinding spot and he was the only one that could make it explode, she opened her soul for him.

He reached her inner depths, deeper into her than she thought it was possible to reach. When he pulled apart from her mouth to let her breathe she stared fixedly into his eyes, watching him as he pushed into her with force.

The tension was building between her legs, overwhelmingly strong. She moaned out breathlessly and saw him grin in return, wild and unhinged. His hips snapped into her, his scrotum slapping her wet folds, and she tightened her fingers in his messy hair. The world around her was sparkling and shimmering with overwhelming ecstasy. Harley's head hit the headboard and she laughed out loud, floating above the clouds. This was the greatest high she had ever felt, and he took her higher.

She suddenly tightened her thighs around him and rolled over, without breaking contact, easily pushing him down into the bed. He felt harder than ever inside of her, warm, she fit him like a glove. His hands gripped her waist possessively as she rolled her hips back and forth, meeting his own forceful thrusts. The sweat gleamed on his pale chest and she leaned forward and kissed him again.

He groaned when she sank her teeth into his lip and she could feel him throbbing inside of her. Her own pleasure was tightening up her insides, she clenched hard around him and he growled in a way that was positively animalistic.

A particularly hard snap of his hips sent her tumbling over the edge. Harley locked her legs and arms around him with suffocating force as she threw her head back, panting. She tightened up around him, earning a deep grunt in return. Her body trembled as she came around him, just as one of his hands found her clit again and twisted it painfully.

The sensation left her panting hard, white flashing behind her eyelids and her strength drained. She loosened her grip around him only for him to roll them over and push her down into the bed again.

It didn't take him long to finish, with her embedding her nails into his back and pressing as hard as she could. She moaned weakly as he gave the last, deep pushes into her. He groaned hotly into her ear, then his teeth found the sensitive spot underneath her jawbone and he bit down as he came. She could feel his hot seed filling her up, the warmth spreading in her.

He remained inside of her, buried to the hilt as they panted into each other's mouths and Harley's head spun with delirium. She kept him as close as she possibly could, the exhaustion was taking over and her eyelids drooped, but she refused to look away from his magnificent face.

She had missed him just as much as her body had missed having him inside. The world was filled with patterns and colors again, swirling at the edge of her exhausted vision, just like it should be. She felt his warmth slide out of her and the stickiness of their fluids running out between her thighs as he laid on the side and pulled her close to his chest.

He purred darkly as she pressed herself close to him - she could feel a pleasant throbbing between her legs, the soreness telling her she would not be able to walk straight for a while. She loved it when he branded her like that, left visible traces of her body. The scent of sweat, blood and matted arousal filled her nostrils and made her relax completely.

"Who's Pam?" he suddenly mumbled.

Harley yawned, she had almost forgotten all about her. "One'a Falcone's guys tried to drug me, but she gave me some antidote or sometha'..."

He growled deeply, a ripping sound that sent shivers through her spine, despite the heavy drowsiness.

"Falcone?" he sing-sang, a smooth, dangerous tone of voice that she recognized well. "The old man's back?"

She giggled as she felt his blood lust rise in the air. She absentmindedly threaded her fingers through his hair, stroking it back from his forehead.

"Ya didn't kill Pam, did ya?"

He shrugged. "Jonny hasn't counted the bodies yet."

Taking it as an affirmation that her new-found friend was alive, she intertwined their legs.

"What do you say we pay the roman a visit tomorrow?" Joker purred. She could see his metal grill through the darkness as he grinned.

Harley pressed a soft kiss to his mouth and giggled sleepily. "Sure, Puddin'."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go. What a wild ride! I loved writing this chapter and I hope you enjoyed it just as much. This is the longest fanfiction chapter I have ever written.
> 
> Next chapter will be the final chapter in this series, but consider this story an introduction to my other JxHQ fics. I had not planned on including lil Pammie but I really like her dynamic with Harley and I felt it was time for an introduction. She might appear in other works of mine, it's definitely not the last time we'll see her - but she is only a supporting character here.
> 
> Lastly, please take the time to leave a review - it's my best motivation and support!
> 
> Love, Crystallinee


	11. XI

**PART XI**

_"And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds,  
in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you._

\- Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars

 

* * *

 

Harley was back in a familiar room.

Across from her sat a man, and she immediately knew that he was from the outside. People like him rarely sat foot inside of this place, and they always were in a hurry to leave. This place was an enclosed bubble that people didn't get into; they stayed safely outside.

Once she had known what that was like, but she had forgotten. Like everything else.

This man had never been on the inside. His dark brown hair was slicked back and he wore a semi-formal gray suit. He had clean nails and perfect, straight teeth. He looked terribly misplaced at Arkham. Yet, there was something seemingly innocent about those eyes. Blue, that shifted to grey in the faint light that fell from the barred window at the very top of the wall.

Harley sneered at him. "Got lost, did you?"

The therapy room was cold and grey, sterile like dried soil. This man stood out with his fresh scent and newly pressed suit, as if he had dressed up for this occasion.

"Hello, Harleen," he said kindly and placed a thick yellow folder on the table - her li'l stack of accomplishments.

She giggled and leaned back in her chair, swinging back and forth on the back legs. "It's Harley. Harley Quinn."

"Nice to meet you, Harley."

He smiled, unaware of the danger staring right in his face. He was dull and well-shaped, like everyone else she had had. So _unbroken_ and _whole_ and she itched to break him apart. He was nice and polite, because it was required of him on the job. Just another one who regarded the patients as nothing but a number and called them lunatics at the coffee break. Harley had cracked the code to those people's minds long ago.

They were easy.

And easy was _boring_.

"Are ya my new therapist?" she inquired as she examined one of her cracked nails. "'Cause I haven't seen the last one for a week, or so. I think he ran off when I showed him my magic trick...Wanna see, Mistah? I'm real good at magic."

He looked politely interested. "I'm just here for an initial meeting. I'd like to start from the beginning, if that's alright with you."

 _The beginning._  
  
Had there ever been a beginning?  
A small girl who stretched her arms up to the sky and screamed. A girl who forever was alone. She had no one, and no one had her.

"You can tell me why you're here, Harley."

"Why I'm here?" She suddenly glared at him, then smiled sweetly. She looked wide-eyed at him. "I have no idea, Mistah."

He didn't look away from her when she purposefully tried to bring him off track, as if something with her was more interesting than the tiled wall behind her. The other doctors could never hide their nervousness and discomfort, but he was unusually stoic.

"You were admitted to Arkham a little over twelve months ago, am I correct?"

She giggled.

"Do you mind if we talk about this, Harleen? You used to work here before, if I understood correctly."

She stuck her tongue out at him and just giggled.

His deep, blue eyes met hers a second too long. He was a sheep baring his throat in front of the lioness, and she had sharp teeth. Harley stopped rocking on her chair and leaned forward, flashing him a big grin. He was not as dull as the others, scratch that. He had a certain air of something - it would be _so_ much fun to pry him apart piece by piece and watch his mind crumble.

Like a cat, she would play thoroughly with her prey before she gave him the killing strike, then she would present his broken mind to Dr. Arkham like the good kitty she was. Rawr.

"Don't you wanna play with me, Mistah?" She flashed her eyelashes and grimaced sadly. "I'm _bored_."

"Let me ask you some questions first. Do you feel that your current medication works well? Do you sleep well at night?"

She laughed loudly, almost startling him, but he kept a carefully neutral face. Her laughter turned to cheerful giggles. "I sleep when I want."

He looked at her skinny arms covered with bruises and scars, her broken nails and her hair torn out of her skull in one place, then back up at the wildly grinning blonde in front of him. She wore a filthy Arkham suit that was too big for her bony body.

She was famous, Harleen Quinzel with her Harley persona. The wildcat who attacked her fellow inmates without warning and tried to make out with the guards. For some reason, they had let her out of her straitjacket.

Forever stuck on the inside.

Harley leaned closer, keeping an eye on the sharp pencil next to the folder. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and stuck out her bottom lip in a pout, faking a sob. "Aren't ya gonna introduce ya'self before ya start with the mind games? I don't even know who ya are."

She caught his gaze again, he was so easy to read, and cute too. Maybe she'd play some extra with him. She leaned across the table with a smile.

He cleared his throat and skimmed through his notes. Carefully prepared, she could tell. "You can call me Mr. J."

"Mistah... J?"

Her breath got stuck in her throat. He looked away, almost shyly, then smoothed his hair back with an unconscious movement.

Harley threw herself across the table and closed her hands around his throat, catching him completely off guard. They tumbled to the floor, overturning the table and chairs with a loud clash. The papers fell out of her folder and flew all around them but he made no attempt to fight her. She landed on top of him, trembling violently.

She squeezed his throat with pounding heart, feeling a void opening in her chest, a sudden dark wave of something unspeakable that swallowed her whole. She knew those eyes all too well; she had seen them in the most intimate moments.

Something was wrong. This man did not laugh or smile encouragingly at her when she choked him. Something was _wrong_ and her mind tried desperately to fit the pieces together.

"Harley," he tried to reason calmly, "I apologize for startling you. Would you please - "

She squeezed tighter, baring her teeth in scared confusion.

He coughed."Everything will be alright -"

"You're not Mistah J!" she screamed, her voice ringing in her ears. She was strong and flexible despite her size, pinning his body down with her own. His hand made no attempt to press the alarm button. _Why isn't he fighting back?_ Everyone from the outside fought, it was their instinct _.  
_  
Maybe the Thorazine injections had scattered her brain one time too much, but through the panicked haze and black void, she _knew_ him. She breathed harshly.

 _This isn't how it's supposed to be_ , came the mental chorus in the back of her head. The voices were chattering so loudly she could hardly think straight. The fear was paralyzing, gripping her, and suddenly she wished for the guards to overpower her again, sedate her and throw her back into her cell.

 _What am I without you?_  
  
"You're not, you're not, you're not," Harley chanted and her fingers tightened around his windpipe. His eyes glazed over.

Then, he smiled slowly. It spread across his face, across the entire world and overtook the darkness.

Through her blurry eyes she saw vivid green hair, metal gleaming between his red lips. That smile brought her back wordlessly. She blinked one, two, three times. He was lying beneath her on the bed as she straddled his chest. Her trembling hands were still wrapped around his throat but he made no attempt to stop her; he was completely relaxed.

The Joker's gaze was locked with hers. Harley gasped as the nightmare slowly left her retina and her grip loosened.

For the first time, her eyes overflowed with fear and shame and she couldn't hold it back. It came from a place she couldn't recognize; her sight blurred and the tears ran down her face, dripping down onto his ghostly pale face.

Harleen never cried. Harleen had let the tears burn into herself.

"I'm sorry, Mistah J," she whispered and withdrew her hands, but his own caught hers in a vice grip and held them there.

They remained there in complete silence, her sitting on top of him and him calmly lying underneath. Only her shaky breaths were heard, but she blinked the tears out of her face vehemently so she could see his face.

His face, the only thing that mattered, that guided her through the darkness and made the void close again. He was not a stranger anymore, he was just the way she wanted to see him. He would always be there for her. His face had been the first thing she saw when she awakened, his face had been the last thing she saw before she lost herself.

His grip around her wrists suddenly tightened and cut off her blood flow. His voice was low and smooth, yet soft.

"If you want to kill me, wake me up so I can feel it." His gaze bore into hers. "I want to see your face when you do it. Do it nice and slow."

Then he smiled, that certain Harley-smile that filled her with reassurance, and she knew that he meant every word.  
Warmth flooded her chest and she instinctively smiled back. She wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders and pressed herself to him, burying her face against his neck.

She couldn't help the silent giggles that spilled out of her. A violent release that made her entire body shake with the fading image of J as a therapist at Arkham - the feeling of almost killing him with her bare hands.

In another world, she might have.

In another world, J might have killed his favorite therapist the moment she let her guard down.

And here she was, clinging to him, her teeth gnawing at his neck. His arms wrapped around her body as his legs drew up to keep her trapped in his hard embrace.

"Hmm?" he urged, reminding her of his request. She felt his hot breath in her ear.

She pressed a kiss to his throat. "I promise."

_What are you without me?_

* * *

 

"Carmine can't come to the party?" Joker leaned back in his seat, teeth glinting as he grinned. "How tragic. Then I'll have to come to him instead!"

Harley winked at him and leaned closer, letting her lips touch his jaw ever so lightly. He had one arm draped across the edge of the seat next to her. He didn't pay her much attention, but this time she could forgive his distraction.

Joker had decided to play with the infamous mafia boss and Jonny Frost had tried to arrange a meeting, through excess pushing and dealing. Falcone had not shown up, perhaps sensing his impending doom, but instead sent one of his closest men to meet them at the club - no one dared to completely deny a request from the clown prince.

Frost stood up as he exchanged a few last words with the suited guest. J had treated the invited mafia member as nothing more than a waiter and not spoken a word to him directly. Instead he had taken a great pleasure in speaking to Frost over his head and played with his gun.

Harley could hardly wait to obtain yet another golden watch - she kept two different collections for different outfits - and tried to remain patient.

Falcone's henchman smoothed out his suit, trying his very best to ignore the clown prince's passive aggressive behavior and Harley's devilish smiles. He was well-trained, a smart guy, and knew not to pay attention to anything but his host. He seemed to think he was safe with Falcone's bodyguards all over the place - Harley had noticed the men in black suits that discreetly eyed them.

No one who sat foot inside of the Grin and Bare It was ever unarmed, and the question wasn't who brought the most ammunition, but who used it first. Usually, there was no competition about that.

The henchman turned to Joker in a last attempt to communicate. "Falcone sends his regards. He didn't have the chance to personally come by."

"His regards?" J's voice pitched and he laughed behind his hand, then he lowered it and gave a deep, hard stare.  
Harley could see the muscles in his neck tense and her blood sang in anticipation.

"I must say I'm disappointed." His grin was nothing but menacing, and the henchman quickly averted his gaze.

"He also wanted me to tell you personally that he harbors no grudges. As a token of our appreciation, we have cleared an area for you."

J turned to Harley. "Someone's eager to get out of the doghouse!" His hand placed on her thigh and she saw the malevolent glint in his eyes.

She remembered the drink that made her drowsy, the man she seduced at the Red Lantern, his deliberate attempt to take her out. J was famous for holding his grudges, and he never, ever let anything go. But he liked to plan his revenges carefully and enact them violently.

She loved it when he killed for her.

The Joker stood up, smoothed his hair back and turned to Frost. In his full length, he was intimidating enough to make Falcone's henchman discreetly back off. Frost gestured for the henchman to leave.

"Get us some grape soda," J ordered. "This is going to be a lot of fun."

Harley was still sitting on the couch when she caught sight of one of Falcone's bodyguards exchanging a look with each other. The henchman got eye contact with them ever so subtly as he headed towards the exit of the club.

Harley remained in her place, her head turned towards the Joker as she laughed at something he said, but in the corner of her vision she watched the man turn around and pull something out from his dark jacket suit, his eyes fixated on the Joker's back.

It was nothing but pure instinct, a flash of a moment as the Joker was turned in the other direction. Only a second, and Frost's watchful eyes had turned away to call for a waitress.

Harley swiftly jumped over the seat, through the golden drapes and pounced right onto the man. Years of gymnastic training had made her quick and she tackled him to the floor, but he was stronger than her. A shot went off at the ceiling and she forcibly wrenched the pistol out of his hand. She grabbed it and held it above his head tauntingly. "Aw, give it to mama!"

He reached for her, kicking and struggling, so she threw the gun away before he could overpower her and bashed his face against the marble floor. One, two, three.

She grabbed a champagne bottle standing on a nearby table, and hit his head as pieces of ice rained down over them. There was movement all around her, in the corner of her vision she saw Frost quickly approaching, gun drawn. Harley turned her head halfway with a glare, baring her teeth. Frost knew that whenever J didn't say anything, _she_ was the boss. "He's mine."

The henchman's face was covered in shards of glass and broken ice. She pressed his head into the floor, grabbing his collar and raising the heavy champagne bottle again, liquid spilling out over him. Harley leaned closer, her free hand holding his in place.

"Don't _ever_ mess with Mistah J again," she hissed, then slammed the end of the bottle into his head again, breaking his nose and teeth, until his face was a bloody mess. After he stopped moving, just gurgling for breath, she stood up and brushed the ice off her dress.

The Joker sauntered over to her, a marvelous grin on his face. He kept his eyes on Harley as he addressed the staff: "Block all exits." He emphasized the order with a wave of his customized .45.

She returned his wide grin, anticipation rushing through her veins when she saw the unconcealed blood lust in his eyes.

The following ten minutes were an intense rush. All she could remember was the chaos of people moving quickly, the music blasting and how good it felt to be in the center of attention again. Harley stepped over the bodies on the floor, swinging her hips just so for J. He looked up at her from his latest kill, gun still smoking. Through it all her eyes had found his, her one and only, her Mister J.

Nothing put him in such a good mood as killing, like a physical release. But afterwards there was always act two and three, and she couldn't wait to initiate them.

"Did you like that, Puddin'?"

"Harley," he purred, a mad light in his eyes. "Daddy's so proud of you."

She wrapped her arms around him with crushing force, kissing him intensely. As if she was trying to melt into him, her body molded into his, and she felt his hands move down her lower back. She shivered from the pleasant sensation of his fingers digging hard into her skin. Skin that she ached for him to mark and claim, over and over.

He took her right there in the club, in the VIP space that wasn't too private, but the few remaining survivors fled the place and Frost called for the cleaning service - again.

When he slipped into her it satisfied the void deep within her, an overwhelming relief. He pounded her body hard as she wrapped her arms and legs around him to lock him to her, like one being. Mind and soul like one.

If she ever had doubted how alike they were, it always disappeared into a thousand tiny pieces when he growled hotly in her ear. He was hard and smooth within her, she held him there as her nails moved across his back and drew blood. It was rough and unforgiving, the way he worked her body up into a frenzy, her hips arching into his.

His mouth traveled down her red stained chin, down her neck as if he wanted to devour her with animalistic force, and the energy vibrated within him with every movement. She rocked back and forth, chest pressed against his, her lips greedily seeking out more skin to nibble and tease.

The euphoria was hovering around her, increasing all around her and in that spot he relentlessly pounded. His green hair fell down into her eyes for a moment and she was completely out of breath, face flushing.

He groaned into her mouth and she gasped.

In the midst of it, a strange tenderness came over her. Living a day without him was a thought she never dared to think, a void that remembered her of that dream. It had felt so real, she had been completely convinced.

A world without J was impossible, unthinkable, so unimaginably painful.

Sometimes she wondered if he felt the same, if he had been just as lost without her, why he always held her so tightly. As if he thought she was going to disappear and leave him on his own.

Harley grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him even closer, concentrating on the growing tension inside of her where they were connected. His teeth found their favorite thing to bite - her bottom lip.

When she climaxed, she burst out in breathless giggles. Stars and white light, the entire universe was flickering above. He bit down on her skin, as always, when he came within her. She felt the warmth almost burning her, filling her up, and he remained inside of her. Breathless she looked into his eyes, blue and calm again.

She raised one hand and smoothed his hair back. He watched her without a word as she traced her fingertip over the engraved J on his cheek.

Soon, the next game was about to start.  
  


* * *

  
After the events in the club that took out all of Falcone's sent henchmen, the mafia leader declared war. The Joker found the idea very amusing, but Harley wanted to be the one to deliver the finishing blow - a matter of revenge. To the royalty of Gotham this was just another game, and they always won. Soon enough, the mob bosses were bowing down.

No one could stand up to them, and nothing could separate them, until one particular night a year later when Batman finally found them. That night was the beginning of a different story. But until then, they were untouchable.

Harley had claimed the throne, forever young and forever high.

 

**The End.**

 

_Baby, I'm not on drugs_   
_I'm just in love_   
_You're high enough for me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end of this story. I feel it was necessary to end it here. I want to thank all of you who have reviewed and encouraged me, especially my friends on tumblr, you guys are my squad. I never would have written all this without your support and each one of you are important to me.
> 
> My next focus will be my other fanfic Life and Death - it's about them and their future child, set after the Suicide Squad movie. Pam will also return there.
> 
> I have written several other fics with Joker and Harley in SS-verse, set in the same time line. After this story, Play With Me, Abstinence and Go Home takes place. Go Home is the beginning of the next story I'm going to tell you - it starts with Harley's imprisonment and is the prequel to Life and Death.
> 
> Special thanks to Nemesis for your beautiful artwork of scenes from this fic - they can be found on my blog http://crystallinee-waters.tumblr.com/tagged/just-like-you
> 
> Also many thanks to Mari - Whateverfangirl on tumblr for all the amazing music you've showed me - much of this story wouldn't have been the same without that musical influence.
> 
> I have a playlist for this entire story, and hopefully I'll be able to finish it and upload it to my tumblr soon. I'll write the link here when I'm done.
> 
> Love to hear what you think!
> 
> Crystallinee

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Love, Crystallinee


End file.
